A 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE 
SILVER  FLEECE 


By  the  same  author 
THE  SOULS  OF  BLACK  FOLK 

Eighth  edition 
Large  12mo.         $1.20  net 


A.  C.  McClurg  &  Co.,  Publishers 
Chicago 


'  BLES,  ALMOST  THOU  PERSUADEST  ME  TO  BE  A  FOOL  " 

[CHAPTER  XXIX] 


THE  QUEST    OF  THE 
SILVER  FLEECE 

A  NOVEL 


BY 

W.  E.  BURGHARDT  DuBOIS 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  SOULS  OF  BLACK  FOLK" 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  H.  S.  DE  LAY 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 
1911 


Copyright 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 
1911 


Published  October,  1911 


Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London,  England 


M.  3F.  ijall  JJrttttuirj  (Eampmut 


TO  ONE 


WHOSE  NAME  MAY  NOT  BE  WRITTEN  BUT  TO  WHOSE  TIRELESS 
FAITH  THE  SHAPING  OF  THESE  CRUDER  THOUGHTS 
TO  FORMS  MORE  FITLY  PERFECT  IS  DOUBT 
LESS  DUE,  THIS  FINISHED  WORK  IS 
HEREWITH  DEDICATED 


M515780 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  DREAMS      ......       13 

II     THE  SCHOOL 21 

III  Miss  MARY  TAYLOR     ....       26 

IV  TOWN 33 

V     ZORA 44 

VI  COTTON      ......        54 

VII  THE  PLACE  OF  DREAMS      ...       66 

VIII  MR.  HARRY  CRESSWELL      ...       81 

IX  THE  PLANTING  .....       90 

X  MR.  TAYLOR  CALLS     .          .          .          .101 

XI  THE  FLOWERING  OF  THE  FLEECE      .     119 

XII  THE  PROMISE     .         .         .         .         .     129 

XIII  MRS.  GREY  GIVES  A  DINNER        .          .     146 

XIV  LOVE 152 

XV  REVELATION        .         .         .         .         .158 

XVI  THE  GREAT  REFUSAL          .          .          .172 

XVII  THE  RAPE  OF  THE  FLEECE  .          .          .     181 

XVIII  THE  COTTON  CORNER          .          .          .     190 

XIX  THE  DYING  OF  ELSPETH     .          .          .200 

XX  THE  WEAVING  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE  .     213 

XXI  THE  MARRIAGE  MORNING    .          .          .     223 

XXII  Miss  CAROLINE  WYNN         .          .          .     232 

XXIII  THE  TRAINING  OF  ZORA      .          .          .244 

XXIV  THE  EDUCATION  OF  ALWYN        .          .     253 
XXV  THE   CAMPAIGN           ....     266 

XXVI  CONGRESSMAN  CRESSWELL    .          .          .     282 

XXVII  THE  VISION  OF  ZORA  ,                                  293 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXVIII  THE  ANNUNCIATION    .         . 

XXIX  A  MASTER  OF  FATE     .          . 

XXX  THE  RETURN  OF  ZORA 

XXXI  A  PARTING  OF  WAYS   . 

XXXII  ZORA'S  WAY 

XXXIII  THE  BUYING  OF  THE  SWAMP 

XXXIV  THE  RETURN  OF  ALWYN     . 
XXXV  THE  COTTON  MILL     . 

XXXVI  THE  LAND          .         . 

XXXVII  THE  MOB  .         . 

XXXVIII  ATONEMENT 


PAGE 

303 


326 
337 
3£5 
363 
376 
389 
402 
418 
426 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 
"Bles,   almost  thou   persuadest   me   to   be   a   fool" 

Frontispiece 

They  together,  back  in  the  swamp,  shadowed  by 
the  foliage,  began  to  fashion  the  wonderful  gar 
ment  50 

"  Can  it  be,  Bles  Alwyn,"  she  said,  "  that  you  don't 
know  the  sort  of  a  girl  she  is?"  .  .  .  168 

"I  am  not  worthy  of  her,"  he  answered,  sinking 
before  her  .  430 


NOTE 


HE  who  would  tell  a  tale  must  look  toward  three  ideals :   \ 
to  tell  it  well,  to  tell  it  beautifully,  and  to  tell  the 
truth. 

The  first  is  the  Gift  of  God,  the  second  is  the  Vision 
of  Genius,  but  the  third  is  the  Reward  of  Honesty. 

In  The  Quest  of  the  Silver  Fleece  there  is  little,  I  ween, 
divine  or  ingenious ;  but,  at  least,  I  have  been  honest.  In 
no  fact  or  picture  have  I  consciously  set  down  aught  the 
counterpart  of  which  I  have  not  seen  or  known ;  and  what 
ever  the  finished  picture  may  lack  of  completeness,  this 
lack  is  due  now  to  the  story-teller,  now  to  the  artist,  but 
never  to  the  herald  of  the  Truth. 

NEW  YORK  CITY,  THE  AUTHOK. 

August  15,  1911. 


THE  QUEST  OF 
THE  SILVER  FLEECE 


CHAPTER  I 

DREAMS 

NIGHT  fell.     The  red  waters  of  the  swamp  grew 
sinister    and    sullen.      The    tall    pines    lost   their 
slimness   and   stood  in  wide  blurred   blotches   all 
across  the  way,  and  a  great  shadowy  bird  arose,  wheeled 
and  melted,  murmuring,  into  the  black-green  sky. 

The  boy  wearily  dropped  his  heavy  bundle  and  stood 
still,  listening  as  the  voice  of  crickets  split  the  shadows 
and  made  the  silence  audible.  A  tear  wandered  down 
his  brown  cheek.  They  were  at  supper  now,  he  whis 
pered —  the  father  and  old  mother,  away  back  yonder 
beyond  the  night.  They  were  far  away;  they  would 
never  be  as  near  as  once  they  had  been,  for  he  had 
stepped  into  the  world.  And  the  cat  and  Old  Billy  — 
ah,  but  the  world  was  a  lonely  thing,  so  wide  and  tall 
and  empty !  And  so  bare,  so  bitter  bare !  Somehow  he 
had  never  dreamed  of  the  world  as  lonely  before;  he  had 
fared  forth  to  beckoning  hands  and  luring,  and  to  the 
eager  hum  of  human  voices,  as  of  some  great,  swelling 
music. 

[13] 


14      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

Yet  now  he  was  alone;  the  empty  night  was  closing 
all  about  him  here  in  a  strange  land,  and  he  was  afraid. 
The  bundle  with  his  earthly  treasure  had  hung  heavy 
and  heavier  on  his  shoulder;  his  little  horde  of  money 
was  tightly  wadded  in  his  sock,  and  the  school  lay  hid 
den  somewhere  far  away  in  the  shadows.  He  wondered 
how  far  it  was ;  he  looked  and  harkened,  starting  at  his 
own  heartbeats,  and  fearing  more  and  more  the  long  dark 
fingers  of  the  night. 

Then  of  a  sudden  up  from  the  darkness  came  music. 
It  was  human  music,  but  of  a  wildness  and  a  weirdness  that 
startled  the  boy  as  it  fluttered  and  danced  across  the 
dull  red  waters  of  the  swamp.  He  hesitated,  then  im 
pelled  by  some  strange  power,  left  the  highway  and 
slipped  into  the  forest  of  the  swamp,  shrinking,  yet  fol 
lowing  the  song  hungrily  and  half  forgetting  his  fear.  A 
harsher,  shriller  note  struck  in  as  of  many  and  ruder 
voices;  but  above  it  flew  the  first  sweet  music,  birdlike, 
abandoned,  and  the  boy  crept  closer. 

The  cabin  crouched  ragged  and  black  at  the  edge  of 
black  waters.  An  old  chimney  leaned  drunkenly  against 
it,  raging  with  fire  and  smoke,  while  through  the  chinks 
winked  red  gleams  of  warmth  and  wild  cheer.  With  a 
revel  of  shouting  and  noise,  the  music  suddenly  ceased. 
\f  Hoarse  staccato  cries  and  peals  of  laughter  shook  the 
old  hut,  and  as  the  boy  stood  there  peering  through  the 
black  trees,  abruptly  the  door  flew  open  and  a  flood  of 
light  illumined  the  wood. 

Amid  this  mighty  halo,  as  on  clouds  of  flame^  a  girl 
was  dancing.  She  was  black,  and  lithe,  and  tall,  and 
willowy.  %  Her  garments  Twined  and  flew  around  the  deli 
cate  moulding  of  her  dark,  young,  half-naked  limbs.  A 
heavy  mass  of  hair  clung  motionless  to  her  wide  fore- 


DREAMS  15 

head.  Her  arms  twirled  and  flickered,  and  body  and 
soul  seemed  quivering  and  whirring  in  the  poetry  of  her 
motion. 

As  she  danced  she  sang.  He  heard  her  voice  as  be 
fore,  fluttering  like  a  bird's  in  the  full  sweetness  of  her 
utter  music.  It  was  no  tune  nor  melody,  it  was  just  form 
less,  boundless  music.  The  boy  forgot  himself  and  all 
the  world  besides.  All  his  darkness  was  sudden  light; 
dazzled  he  crept  forward,  bewildered,  fascinated,  until  with 
one  last  wild  whirl  the  elf-girl  paused.  The  crimson  light 
fell  full  upon  the  warm  and  velvet  bronze  of  her  face  — 
her  midnight  eyes  were  aglow,  her  full  purple  lips  apart, 
her  half  hid  bosom  panting,  and  all  the  music  dead.  In 
voluntarily  the  boy  gave  a  gasping  cry  and  awoke  to 
swamp  and  night  and  fire,  while  a  white  face,  drawn,  red- 
eyed  peering  outward  from  some  hidden  throng  within 
the  cabin. 

"  Who  's  that?  "  a  harsh  voice  cried. 

"Where?"  "Who  is  it?"  and  pale  crowding  faces 
blurred  the  light. 

The  boy  wheeled  blindly  and  fled  in  terror  stumbling 
through  the  swamp,  hearing  strange  sounds  and  feeling 
stealthy  creeping  hands  and  arms  and  whispering  voices. 
On  he  toiled  in  mad  haste,  struggling  toward  the  road 
and  losing  it  until  finally  beneath  the  shadows  of  a  mighty 
oak  he  sank  exhausted.  There  he  lay  a  while  trembling 
and  at  last  drifted  into  dreamless  sleep. 

It  was  morning  when  he  awoke  and  threw  a  startled 
glance  upward  to  the  twisted  branches  of  the  oak  that 
bent  above,  sifting  down  sunshine  on  his  brown  face  and 
close  curled  hair.  Slowly  he  remembered  the  loneliness, 
the  fear  and  wild  running  through  the  dark.  He  laughed 
in  the  bold  courage  of  day  and  stretched  himself. 


16      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

Then  suddenly  he  bethought  him  again  of  that  vision 
of  the  night  —  the  waving  arms  and  flying  limbs  of  the 
girl,  and  her  great  black  eyes  looking  into  the  night  and 
calling  him.  He  could  hear  her  now,  and  hear  that 
wondrous  savage  music.  Had  it  been  real?  Had  he 
dreamed?  Or  had  it  been  some  witch-vision  of  the  night, 
come  to  tempt  and  lure  him  to  his  undoing?  Where  was 
that  black  and  flaming  cabin  ?  Where  was  the  girl  —  the 
soul  that  had  called  him?  She  must  have  been  real;  she 
had  to  live  and  dance  and  sing;  he  must  again  look  into 
the  mystery  of  her  great  eyes.  And  he  sat  up  in  sudden 
determination,  and,  lo !  gazed  straight  into  the  very  eyes 
of  his  dreaming. 

She  sat  not  four  feet  from  him,  leaning  against  the 
great  tree,  her  eyes  now  languorously  abstracted,  now  alert 
and  quizzical  with  mischief.  She  seemed  but  half-clothed, 
and  her  warm,  dark  flesh  peeped  furtively  through  the 
rent  gown ;  her  thick,  crisp  hair  was  frowsy  and  rumpled, 
and  the  long  curves  of  her  bare  young  arms  gleamed  in 
the  morning  sunshine,  glowing  with  vigor  and  life.  A 
little  mocking  smile  came  and  sat  upon  her  lips. 

"  What  you  run  for  ?  "  she  asked,  with  dancing  mis 
chief  in  her  eyes. 

"  Because  —  "  he  hesitated,  and  his  cheeks  grew  hot. 

"  I  knows,"  she  said,  with  impish  glee,  laughing  low 
music. 

"  Why?  "  he  challenged,  sturdily. 

"  You  was  a-feared." 

He  bridled.  "  Well,  I  reckon  you  'd  be  a-feared  if  you 
was  caught  out  in  the  black  dark  all  alone." 

"  Pooh !  "  she  scoffed  and  hugged  her  knees.  "  Pooh ! 
I'se  stayed  out  all  alone  heaps  o'  nights." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  curious  awe. 


DREAMS  17 

"  I  don't  believe  you,"  he  asserted ;  but  she  tossed  her 
head  and  her  eyes  grew  scornful. 

"Who's  a-f eared  of  the  dark?  I  love  night."  Her 
eyes  grew  soft. 

He  watched  her  silently,  till,  waking  from  her  day 
dream,  she  abruptly  asked: 

"Where  you  from?" 

"  Georgia." 

"Where's  that?" 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  but  she  seemed  matter- 
of-fact. 

"  It 's  away  over  yonder,"  he  answered. 

"  Behind  where  the  sun  comes  up  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  " 

"  Then  it  ain't  so  far,"  she  declared.  "  I  knows  where 
the  sun  rises,  and  I  knows  where  it  sets."  She  looked 
up  at  its  gleaming  splendor  glinting  through  the  leaves, 
and,  noting  its  height,  announced  abruptly: 

"  I'se  hungry." 

"  So  'm  I,"  answered  the  boy,  fumbling  at  his  bundle ; 
and  then,  timidly:  "Will  you  eat  with  me?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  and  watched  him  with  eager  eyes. 

Untying  the  strips  of  cloth,  he  opened  his  box,  and 
disclosed  chicken  and  biscuits,  ham  and  corn-bread.  She 
clapped  her  hands  in  glee. 

"  Is  there  any  water  near  ?  "  he  asked. 

Without  a  word,  she  bounded  up  and  flitted  off  like  a 
brown  bird,  gleaming  dull-golden  in  the  sun,  glancing  in 
and  out  among  the  trees,  till  she  paused  above  a  tiny 
black  pool,  and  then  came  tripping  and  swaying  back 
with  hands  held  cupwise  and  dripping  with  cool  water. 

"  Drink,"  she  cried.  Obediently  he  bent  over  the  little 
hands  that  seemed  so  soft  and  thin.  He  took  a  deep 


18   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

draught;  and  then  to  drain  the  last  drop,  his  hands 
touched  hers  and  the  shock  of  flesh  first  meeting  flesh 
startled  them  both,  while  the  water  rained  through.  A 
moment  their  eyes  looked  deep  into  each  other's  — -  a  timid, 
startled  gleam  in  hers;  a  wonder  in  his.  Then  she  said 
dreamily : 

"  We'se  known  us  all  our  lives,  and  —  before,  ain't 
we?" 

He  hesitated. 

"Ye  —  es  —  I  reckon,"  he  slowly  returned.  And  then, 
brightening,  he  asked  gayly :  "  And  we  '11  be  friends  al 
ways,  won't  we?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  at  last,  slowly  and  solemnly,  and  an 
other  brief  moment  they  stood  still. 

Then  the  mischief  danced  in  her  eyes,  and  a  song 
bubbled  on  her  lips.  She  hopped  to  the  tree. 

"  Come  • —  eat !  "  she  cried.  And  they  nestled  together 
amid  the  big  black  roots  of  the  oak,  laughing  and  talk 
ing  while  they  ate. 

"  What 's  over  there  ?  "  he  asked  pointing  northward. 

"  Cresswell's  big  house." 

"  And  yonder  to  the  west  ?  " 

"The  school." 

He  started  joyfully. 

"The  school!     What  school?" 

"  Old  Miss'  School." 

"Miss  Smith's  school?" 

"  Yes."     The  tone  was  disdainful. 

"  Why,  that 's  where  I  'm  going.  I  was  a-feared  it 
was  a  long  way  off;  I  must  have  passed  it  in  the  night." 

"  I  hate  it !  "  cried  the  girl,  her  lips  tense. 

"  But  I  '11  be  so  near,"  he  explained.  "  And  why  do 
you  hate  it?  " 


DREAMS  19 

"Yes  — you'll  be  near,"  she  admitted;  "that'll  be 
nice ;  but  —  "  she  glanced  westward,  and  the  fierce  look 
faded.  Soft  joy  crept  to  her  face  again,  and  she  sat 
once  more  dreaming. 

"  Yon  way  's  nicest,"  she  said. 

"Why,  what's  there?" 

"  The  swamp,"  she  said  mysteriously. 

"  And  what  's  beyond  the  swamp  ?  " 

She  crouched  beside  him  and  whispered  in  eager,  tense 
tones :  "  Dreams ! " 

He  looked  at  her,  puzzled. 

"  Dreams  ?  "  vaguely  —  "  dreams  ?  Why,  dreams  ain't 
—  nothing." 

"  Oh,  yes  they  is !  "  she  insisted,  her  eyes  flaming  in 
misty  radiance  as  she  sat  staring  beyond  the  shadows 
of  the  swamp.  "  Yes  they  is !  There  ain't  nothing  but 
dreams  —  that  is,  nothing  much. 

"  And  over  yonder  behind  the  swamps  is  great  fields 
full  of  dreams,  piled  high  and  burning;  and  right  amongst 
them  the  sun,  when  he 's  tired  o'  night,  whispers  and 
drops  red  things,  'cept  when  devils  make  'em  black." 

The  boy  stared  at  her;  he  knew  not  whether  to  jeer 
or  wonder. 

"  How  you  know?  "  he  asked  at  last,  skeptically. 

"  Promise  you  won't  tell?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered. 

She  cuddled  into  a  little  heap,  nursing  her  knees,  and 
answered  slowly. 

"  I  goes  there  sometimes.  I  creeps  in  'mongst  the 
dreams ;  they  hangs  there  like  big  flowers,  dripping  dew 
and  sugar  and  blood  —  red,  red  blood.  And  there 's 
little  fairies  there  that  hop  about  and  sing,  and  devils  — 
great,  ugly  devils  that  grabs  at  you  and  roasts  and  eats 


20      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

you  if  they  gits  you ;  but  they  do  n't  git  me.  Some  devils 
is  big  and  white,  like  ha'nts ;  some  is  long  and  shiny,  like 
creepy,  slippery  snakes;  and  some  is  little  and  broad 
and  black,  and  they  yells  —  " 

The  boy  was  listening  in  incredulous  curiosity,  half 
minded  to  laugh,  half  minded  to  edge  away  from  the 
black-red  radiance  of  yonder  dusky  swamp.  He  glanced 
furtively  backward,  and  his  heart  gave  a  great  bound. 

"  Some  is  little  and  broad  and  black,  and  they  yells  —  " 
chanted  the  girl.  And  as  she  chanted,  deep,  harsh  tones 
came  booming  through  the  forest: 

"  Zo-ra!     Zo-ra!     0  —  o  —  oh,  Zora !  " 

He  saw  far  behind  him,  toward  the  shadows  of  the 
swamp,  an  old  woman  —  short,  broad,  black  and  wrinkled, 
with  fangs  and  pendulous  lips  and  red,  wicked  eyes.  His 
heart  bounded  in  sudden  fear;  he  wheeled  toward  the 
girl,  and  caught  only  the  uncertain  flash  of  her  garments 
—  the  wood  was  silent,  and  he  was  alone. 

He  arose,  startled,  quickly  gathered  his  bundle,  arid 
looked  around  him.  The  sun  was  strong  and  high,  the 
morning  fresh  and  vigorous.  Stamping  one  foot  angrily, 
he  strode  jauntily  out  of  the  wood  toward  the  big  road. 

But  ever  and  .anon  he  glanced  curiously  back.  Had 
he  seen  a  haunt?  Or  was  the  elf-girl  real?  And  then  he 
thought  of  her  words: 

"  We'se  known  us  all  our  lives." 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  SCHOOL 

DAY  was  breaking  above  the  white  buildings  of  the 
Negro  school  and  throwing  long,  low  lines  of  gold 
in  at  Miss  Sarah  Smith's  front  window.  She  lay 
in  the  stupor  of  her  last  morning  nap,  after  a  night  of 
harrowing  worry.  Then,  even  as  she  partially  awoke, 
she  lay  still  with  closed  eyes,  feeling  the  shadow  of  some 
great  burden,  yet  daring  not  to  rouse  herself  and  recall 
its  exact  form;  slowly  again  she  drifted  toward  uncon 
sciousness. 

"  Bang!  bang!  bang! "  hard  knuckles  were  beating 
upon  the  door  below. 

She  heard  drowsily,  and  dreamed  that  it  was  the  nail 
ing  up  of  all  her  doors;  but  she  did  not  care  much,  and 
but  feebly  warded  the  blows  away,  for  she  was  very  tired. 

"  Bang!  bang!  bang!  "  persisted  the  hard  knuckles. 

She  started  up,  and  her  eye  fell  upon  a  letter  lying 
on  her  bureau.  Back  she  sank  with  a  sigh,  and  lay  star 
ing  at  the  ceiling  —  a  gaunt,  flat,  sad-eyed  creature, 
with  wisps  of  gray  hair  half-covering  her  baldness,  and 
a  face  furrowed  with  care  and  gathering  years. 

It  was  thirty  years  ago  this  day,  she  recalled,  since 
she  first  came  to  this  broad  land  of  shade  and  shine  in 
Alabama  to  teach  black  folks. 

[21] 


g£      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

It  had  been  a  hard  beginning  with  suspicion  and 
squalor  around;  with  poverty  within  and  without  the 
first  white  walls  of  the  new  school  home.  Yet  somehow 
the  struggle  then  with  all  its  helplessness  and  disappoint 
ment  had  not  seemed  so  bitter  as  to-day:  then  failure 
meant  but  little,  now  it  seemed  to  mean  everything;  then 
it  meant  disappointment  to  a  score  of  ragged  urchins, 
now  it  meant  two  hundred  boys  and  girls,  the  spirits  of 
a  thousand  gone  before  and  the  hopes  of  thousands  to 
come,  fin  her  imagination  the  significance  of  these  half 
dozen  gleaming  buildings  perched  aloft  seemed  porten 
tous  —  big  with  the  destiny  not  simply  of  a  county  and 
a  State,  but  of  a  race  —  a  nation  —  a  world.  It  was 
God's  own  cause^Tand  yet  — 

"Bang!  bangTbang!  "  again  went  the  hard  knuckles 
down  there  at  the  front. 

Miss  Smith  slowly  arose,  shivering  a  bit  and  wonder 
ing  who  could  possibly  be  rapping  at  that  time  in  the 
morning.  She  sniffed  the  chilling  air  and  was  sure  she 
caught  some  lingering  perfume  from  Mrs.  Vanderpool's 
gown.  She  had  brought  this  rich  and  rare-apparelled 
lady  up  here  yesterday,  because  it  was  more  private,  and 
here  she  had  poured  forth  her  needs.  She  had  talked 
long  and  in  deadly  earnest.  She  had  not  spoken  of  the 
endowment  for  which  she  had  hoped  so  desperately  dur 
ing  a  quarter  of  a  century  —  no,  only  for  the  five  thousand 
dollars  to  buy  the  long  needed  new  land.  It  was  so  little 
• —  so  little  beside  what  this  woman  squandered  — 

The  insistent  knocking  was  repeated  louder  than  before. 

"  Sakes  alive,"  cried  Miss  Smith,  throwing  a  shawl 
about  her  and  leaning  out  the  window.  "  Who  is  itf  and 
what  do  you  want?" 


THE  SCHOOL  23 

"  Please,  ma'am,  I  've  come  to  school,"  answered  a 
tall  black  boy  with  a  bundle. 

"Well,  why  don't  you  go  to  the  office?"  Then  she 
saw  his  face  and  hesitated.  She  felt  again  the  old 
motherly  instinct  to  be  the  first  to  welcome  the  new  pupil ; 
a  luxury  which,  in  later  years,  the  endless  push  of  details 
had  denied  her. 

"  Wait !  "  she  cried  shortly,  and  began  to  dress. 

A  new  boy,  she  mused.  Yes,  every  day  they  straggled 
in ;  every  day  came  the  call  for  more,  more  —  this  great, 
growing  thirst  to  know  —  to  do  —  to  be.  And  yet  that 
woman  had  sat  right  here,  aloof,  imperturbable,  listen 
ing  only  courteously.  When  Miss  Smith  finished,  she 
had  paused  and,  flicking  her  glove,— 

"  My  dear  Miss  Smith,"  she  had  said  softly,  with  a 
tone  that  just  escaped  a  drawl  —  "  My  dear  Miss  Smith, 
your  work  is  interesting  and  your  faith  —  marvellous ; 
but,  frankly,  I  cannot  make  myself  believe  in  it.  f  You 
are  trying  to  treat  these  funny  little  monkeys  just  as 
you  would  your  own  children  —  or  even  mine.  It 's  quite 
heroic,  of  course,  but  it 's  sheer  madness,  and  I  do  not 
feel  that  I  ought  to  encourage  itA  I  would  not  mind  a 
thousand  or  so  to  train  a  good  cook  for  the  Cresswells, 
or  a  clean  faithful  maid  for  myself  —  for  Helene  has 
faults  —  or  indeed  deft  and  tractable  laboring-folk  for 
any  one^Jput  I'm  quite  through  trying  to  turn  natural 
servants  into  masters  of  me  and  mine.  I  —  hope  I  'm 
not  too  blunt;  I  hope  I  make  myself  clear.  You  know, 
statistics  show  —  " 

"  Drat  statistics  ! "  Miss  Smith  had  flashed  impatiently. 
"  These  are  folks." 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  smiled  indulgently.  "  To  be  sure," 
she  murmured,  "  but  what  sort  of  folks  ?  '\ 


24      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  God's  sort." 

"  Oh,  well  —  " 

But  Miss  Smith  had  the  bit  in  her  teeth  and  could  not 
have  stopped.  She  was  paying  high  for  the  privilege  of 
talking,  but  it  had  to  be  said. 

"  God's  sort,  Mrs.  Vanderpool  —  not  the  sort  that 
/  think  of  the  world  as  arranged  for  their  exclusive  benefit 
and  comfort." 

"  Well,  I  do  want  to  count  —  " 

Miss  Smith  bent  forward  —  not  a  beautiful  pose,  but 
earnest. 

"  I  want  you  to  count,  and  I  want  to  count,  too ;  but 
I  don't  want  us  to  be  the  only  ones  that  count.  I  want 
to  live  in  a  world  where  every  soul  counts  —  white,  black, 
and  yellow  —  all.  That  's  what  I  'm  teaching  these  chil 
dren  here  —  to  count,  and  not  to  be  like  dumb,  driven 
cattle.  If  you  don't  believe  in  this,  of  course  you  can 
not  help  us." 

"  Your  spirit  is  admirable,  Miss  Smith,"  she  had  said 
very  softly ;  "  I  only  wish  I  could  feel  as  you  do.  Good- 
afternoon,"  and  she  had  rustled  gently  down  the  narrow 
stairs,  leaving  an  all  but  imperceptible  suggestion  of 
perfume.  Miss  Smith  could  smell  it  yet  as  she  went  down 
this  morning. 

The  breakfast  bell  jangled.  "Five  thousand  dollars," 
she  kept  repeating  to  herself,  greeting  the  teachers  ab 
sently  —  "  five  thousand  dollars."  And  then  on  the  porch 
she  was  suddenly  aware  of  the  awaiting  boy.  She  eyed 
him  critically:  black,  fifteen,  country-bred,  strong,  clear- 
eyed. 

"  Well?  "  she  asked  in  that  brusque  manner  wherewith 
her  natural  timidity  was  wont  to  mask  her  kindness. 
"Well,  sir?" 


THE  SCHOOL  25 

"I've  come  to  school." 

"  Humph  —  we  can't  teach  boys  for  nothing." 

The  boy  straightened.     "  I  can  pay  my  way,"  he  re 
turned. 

"  You  mean  you  can  pay  what  we  ask  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes.     Ain't  that  all?  " 

"  No.     The  rest  is  gathered  from  the  crumbs  of  Dives' 
table." 

Then  he  saw  the  twinkle  in  her  eyes.      She  laid  her 
hand  gently  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  If  you  don't  hurry  you  '11  be  late  to  breakfast,"  she 
said  with   an  air  of  confidence.      "  See   those  boys   over 
there  ?     Follow  them,  and  at  noon  come  to  the  office  — 
wait!     What's  your  name?" 

"  Bleaspd   Alwyn,"  he  answered,  and  the  passing  teach 
ers  smiled. 


CHAPTER  III 

MISS  MARY  TAYLOR 

MISS  MARY  TAYLOR  did  not  take  a  college 
course  for  the  purpose  of  teaching  Negroes.  Not 
that  she  objected  to  Negroes  as  human  beings  — 
quite  the  contrary.  In  the  debate  between  the  senior 
societies  her  defence  of  the  Fifteenth  Amendment  had 
been  not  only  a  notable  bit  of  reasoning,  but  delivered 
with  real  enthusiasm.  Nevertheless,  when  the  end  of 
the  summer  came  and  the  only  opening  facing  her  was 
the  teaching  of  children  at  Miss  Smith's  experiment  in  the 
Alabama  swamps,  it  must  be  frankly  confessed  that  Miss 
Taylor  was  disappointed. 

Her  dream  had  been  a  post-graduate  course  at  Bryn 
Mawr;  but  that  was  out  of  the  question  until  money  was 
earned.  She  had  pictured  herself  earning  this  by  teach 
ing  one  or  two  of  her  "  specialties  "  in  some  private  school 
near  New  York  or  Boston,  or  even  in  a  Western  college. 
The  South  she  had  not  thought  of  seriously;  and  yet, 
knowing  of  its  delightful  hospitality  and  mild  climate, 
she  was  not  averse  to  Charleston  or  New  Orleans.  But 
from  the  offer  that  came  to  teach  Negroes  —  country 
Negroes,  and  little  ones  at  that  —  she  shrank,  and,  in 
deed,  probably  would  have  refused  it  out  of  hand  had 
it  not  been  for  her  queer  brother,  John.  John  Taylor, 

[26] 


MISS  MARY  TAYLOR  27 

who  had  supported  her  through  college,  was  interested 
in  cotton.  Having  certain  schemes  in  mind,  he  had  been 
struck  by  the  fact  that  the  Smith  School  was  in  the  midst 
of  the  Alabama  cotton-belt. 

"  Better  go,"  he  had  counselled,  sententiously.  "  Might 
learn  something  useful  down  there." 

She  had  been  not  a  little  dismayed  by  the  outlook, 
and  had  protested  against  his  blunt  insistence. 

"But,  John,  there's  no  society  —  just  elementary 
work  • —  " 

John  had  met  this  objection  with,  "Humph!"  as  he 
left  for  his  office.  Next  day  he  had  returned  to  the 
subject. 

"  Been  looking  up  Tooms  County.  Find  some  Cress- 
wells  there  —  big  plantations  —  rated  at  two  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  dollars.  Some  others,  too ;  big  cotton 
county." 

"You  ought  to  know,  John,  if  I  teach  Negroes  I'll 
scarcely  see  much  of  people  in  my  own  class." 

"  Nonsense !  Butt  in.  Show  off.  Give  'em  your  Greek 
—  and  study  Cotton.  At  any  rate,  I  say  go." 

And  so,  howsoever  reluctantly,  she  had  gone. 

The  trial  was  all  she  had  anticipated,  and  possibly  a 
bit  more.  She  was  a  pretty  young  woman  of  twenty- 
three,  fair  and  rather  daintily  moulded.  In  favorable 
surroundings,  she  would  have  been  an  aristocrat  and  an 
epicure.  L  Here  she  was  teaching  dirty  children,  and  the 
smell  of  confused  odors  and  bodily  perspiration  was  to  her 
at  times  unbearable.  \ 

Then  there  was  the  fact  of  their  color:  it  was  a  fact 
so  insistent,  so  fatal  she  almost  said  at  times,  that  she 
could  not  escape  it.  Theoretically  she  had  always  treated 
it  with  disdainful  ease. 


28      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  What 's  the  mere  color  of  a  human  soul's  skin,"  she 
had  cried  to  a  Wellesley  audience  and  the  audience  had 
applauded  with  enthusiasm.  But  here  in  Alabama, 
brought  closely  and  intimately  in  touch  with  these  dark 
skinned  children,  their  color  struck  her  at  first  with  a 
sort  of  terror  —  it  seemed  ominous  and  forbidding.  She 
found  herself  shrinking  away  and  gripping  herself  lest 
they  should  perceive.  She  could  not  help  but  think  that 
in  most  other  things  they  were  as  different  from  her  as 
in  color.j  She  groped  for  new  ways  to  teach  colored 
brains  and  marshal  colored  thoughts  and  the  result  was 
puzzling  both  to  teacher  and  student.  With  the  other 
teachers  she  had  little  commerce.  They  were  in  no  sense 
her  sort  of  folk.  Miss  Smith  represented  the  older  New 
England  of  her  parents  —  honest,  inscrutable,  determined, 
with  a  conscience  which  she  worshipped,  and  utterly  un 
selfish.  She  appealed  to  Miss  Taylor's  ruddier  and 
daintier  vision  but  dimly  and  distantly  as  some  memory 
of  the  past.  The  other  teachers  were  indistinct  person 
alities,  always  very  busy  and  very  tired,  and  talking 
"  school-room  "  with  their  meals.  Miss  Taylor  was  soon 
starving  for  human  companionship,  for  the  lighter 
touches  of  life  and  some  of  its  warmth  and  laughter. 
She  wanted  a  glance  of  the  new  books  and  periodicals 
and  talk  of  great  philanthropies  and  reforms.  She  felt 
out  of  the  world,  shut  in  and  mentally  anaemic  ;Tj?reat 
as  the  "  Negro  Problem  "  might  be  as  a  world  problem, 
it  looked  sordid  and  small  at  close  rangeT^  So  for  the 
hundredth  time  she  was  thinking  to-day,  as  she  walked 
alone  up  the  lane  back  of  the  barn,  and  then  slowly  down 
through  the  bottoms.  She  paused  a  moment  and  nodded 
to  the  two  boys  at  work  in  a  young  cotton  field. 

"Cotton!" 


MISS  MARY  TAYLOR  29 

She  paused.  She  remembered  with  what  interest  she  had 
always  read  of  this  little  thread  of  the  world.  She  had 
almost  forgotten  that  it  was  here  within  touch  and  sight. 
For  a  moment  something  of  the  vision  of  Cotton  was 
mirrored  in  her  mind.  The  glimmering  sea  of  delicate 
leaves  whispered  and  murmured  before  her,  stretching 
away  to  the  Northward.  She  remembered  that  beyond 
this  little  world  it  stretched  on  and  on  —  how  far  she 
did  not  know  —  but  on  and  on  in  a  great  trembling  sea, 
and  the  foam  of  its  mighty  waters  would  one  time  flood 
the  ends  of  the  earth. 

She  glimpsed  all  this  with  parted  lips,  and  then  sighed 
impatiently.     There  might  be  a  bit  of  poetry  here  and' 
there,  but  most  of  this  place  was  such  desperate  prose. 

She  glanced  absently  at  the  boys. 

One  was  Bles  Alwyn,  a  tall  black  lad.  (Bles,  she  mused, 
—  now  who  would  think  of  naming  a  boy  "  Blessed,"  save 
these  incomprehensible  creatures !  )  Her  regard  shifted 
to  the  green  stalks  and  leaves  again,  and  she  started  to 
move  away.  Then  her  New  England  conscience  stepped 
in.  She  ought  not  to  pass  these  students  without  a  word 
of  encouragement  or  instruction. 

"  Cotton  is  a  wonderful  thing,  is  it  not,  boys  ?  "  she 
said  rather  primly.  The  boys  touched  their  hats  and 
murmured  something  indistinctly.  Miss  Taylor  did  not 
know  much  about  cotton,  but  at  least  one  more  remark 
seemed  called  for. 

"  How  long  before  the  stalks  will  be  ready  to  cut  ?  " 
she  asked  carelessly.  The  farther  boy  coughed  and  Bles 
raised  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her ;  then  after  a  pause  he 
answered  slowly.  (Oh!  these  people  were  so  slow  —  now 
a  New  England  boy  would  have  answered  and  asked  a 
half-dozen  questions  in  the  time.) 


30      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"I  — I  don't  know,"  he  faltered. 

"Don't  know!     Well,   of   all   things!"  inwardly   com 
mented  Miss  Taylor  —  "  literally  born  in  cotton,  and  — 
Oh,  well,"  as  much  as  to  ask,  "What's  the  use?"     She 
turned  again  to  go. 

"What  is  planted  over  there?"  she  asked,  although 
she  really  did  n't  care. 

"  Goobers,"  answered  the  smaller  boy. 

66  Goobers?  "  uncomprehendingly. 

"  Peanuts,"  Bles  specified. 

"  Oh !  "  murmured  Miss  Taylor.  "  I  see  there  are  none 
on  the  vines  yet.  I  suppose,  though,  it 's  too  early  for 
them." 

Then  came  the  explosion.  The  smaller  boy  just  snorted 
with  irrepressible  laughter  and  bolted  across  the  fields. 
And  Bles  —  was  Miss  Taylor  deceived?  —  or  was  he 
chuckling?  She  reddened,  drew  herself  up,  and  then, 
dropping  her  primness,  rippled  with  laughter. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Bles?"  she  asked. 

He  looked  at  her  with  twinkling  eyes. 

"  Well,  you  see,  Miss  Taylor,  it 's  like  this :  farming 
don't  seem  to  be  your  specialty." 

The  word  was  often  on  Miss  Taylor's  lips,  and  she 
recognized  it.  Despite  herself  she  smiled  again. 

"Of  course,  it  isn't  —  I  don't  know  anything  about 
farming.  But  what  did  I  say  so  funny?  " 

Bles  was  now  laughing  outright. 

"Why,  Miss  Taylor!    I  declare!    Goobers  don't  grow 
on  the  tops  of  vines,  but  underground   on  the  roots  — 
like  yams." 

"Is  that  so?" 

"  Yes,  and  we  —  we  don't  pick  cotton  stalks  except 
for  kindling." 


MISS  MARY  TAYLOR  31 

"  I  must  have  been  thinking  of  hemp.  But  tell  me 
more  about  cotton." 

His  eyes  lighted,  for  cotton  was  to  him  a  very  real 
and  beautiful  thing,  and  a  life-long  companion,  yet  not 
one  whose  friendship  had  been  coarsened  and  killed  by 
heavy  toil.  He  leaned  against  his  hoe  and  talked  half 
dreamily  —  where  had  he  learned  so  well  that  dream- 
talk? 

"  We  turn  up  the  earth  and  sow  it  soon  after  Christmas. 
Then  pretty  soon  there  comes  a  sort  of  greenness  on  the 
black  land  and  it  swells  and  grows  and,  and  —  shivers. 
Then  stalks  shoot  up  with  three  or  four  leaves.  That 's 
the  way  it  is  now,  see?  After  that  we  chop  out  the  weak 
stalks,  and  the  strong  ones  grow  tall  and  dark,  till  I  think 
it  must  be  like  the  ocean  —  all  green  and  billowy ;  then  come 
little  flecks  here  and  there  and  the  sea  is  all  filled  with 
flowers  —  flowers  like  little  bells,  blue  and  purple  and 
white." 

"  Ah !  that  must  be  beautiful,"  sighed  Miss  Taylor, 
wistfully,  sinking  to  the  ground  and  clasping  her  hands 
about  her  knees. 

"  Yes,  ma'am.  But  it 's  prettiest  when  the  bolls  come 
and  swell  and  burst,  and  the  cotton  covers  the  field  like 
foam,  all  misty  - 

She  bent  wondering  over  the  pale  plants.  The  poetry 
of  the  thing  began  to  sing  within  her,  awakening  her  un- 
poetic  imagination,  and  she  murmured: 

"  The  Golden  Fleece  —  it 's  the  Silver  Fleece  !  " 

He  barkened. 

"What's  that?"  he  asked. 

"  Have  you  never  heard  of  the  Golden  Fleece,  Bles  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am,"  he  said  eagerly ;  then  glancing  up  to 
ward  the  Cresswell  fields,  he  saw  two  white  men  watch- 


32      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

ing  them.  He  grasped  his  hoe  and  started  briskly  to 
work. 

"  Some  time  you  '11  tell  me,  please,  won't  you  ?  " 

She  glanced  at  her  watch  in  surprise  and  arose  hastily. 

"  Yes,  with  pleasure,"  she  said  moving  away  —  at  first 
very  fast,  and  then  more  and  more  slowly  up  the  lane, 
with  a  puzzled  look  on  her  face. 

She  began  to  realize  that  in  this  pleasant  little  chat 
the  fact  of  the  boy's  color  had  quite  escaped  her;  and 
what  especially  puzzled  her  was  that  this  had  not  hap 
pened  before.  She  had  been  here  four  months,  and  yet 
every  moment  up  to  now  she  seemed  to  have  been  vividly, 
almost  painfully  conscious,  that  she  was  a  white  woman 
talking  to  black  folk.  Now,  for  one  little  half-hour  she 
had  been  a  woman  talking  to  a  boy  —  no,  not  even  that : 
she  had  been  talking  —  just  talking;  there  were  no  per 
sons  in  the  conversation,  just  things  —  one  thing :  Cotton. 

She  started  thinking  of  cotton  —  but  at  once  she  pulled 
herself  back  to  the  other  aspect.  \Always  befcrre  she  had 
been  veiled  from  these  folk:  who  had  put  the  veil  there? 
Had  she  herself  hung  it  before  her  soul,  or  had  they  hid 
den  timidly  behind  its  other  side?  Or  was  it  simply  a 
brute  fact,  regardless  of  both  of  them  A 

The  longer  she  thought,  the  more  bewildered  she  grew. 
There  seemed  no  analogy  that  she  knew.  Here  was  a 
unique  thing,  and  she  climbed  to  her  bedroom  and  stared 
at  the  stars. 


CHAPTER  IV 
TOWN 

JOHN  TAYLOR  had  written  to  his  sister.  He  wanted 
information,  very  definite  information,  about  Tooms 
County  cotton;  about  its  stores,  its  people  — 
especially  its  people.  He  propounded  a  dozen  questions, 
sharp,  searching  questions,  and  he  wanted  the  answers  to 
morrow.  Impossible !  thought  Miss  Taylor.  He  had 
calculated  on  her  getting  this  letter  yesterday,  forgetting 
that  their  mail  was  fetched  once  a  day  from  the  town, 
four  miles  away.  Then,  too,  she  did  not  know  all  these 
matters  and  knew  no  one  who  did.  Did  John  think  she 
had  nothing  else  to  do?  And  sighing  at  the  thought  of 
to-morrow's  drudgery,  she  determined  to  consult  Miss 
Smith  in  the  morning. 

Miss  Smith  suggested  a  drive  to  town  —  Bles  could 
take  her  in  the  top-buggy  after  school  —  and  she  could 
consult  some  of  the  merchants  and  business  men.  She 
could  then  write  her  letter  and  mail  it  there;  it  would 
be  but  a  day  or  so  late  getting  to  New  York. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Miss  Smith  drily,  slowly  folding 
her  napkin,  "  of  course,  the  only  people  here  are  the 
Cresswells." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Miss  Taylor  invitingly.    There  was  an 

[33] 


34      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

allurement  about  this  all-pervasive  name;  it  held  her  by 
a  growing  fascination  and  she  was  anxious  for  the  older 
woman  to  amplify.  Miss  Smith,  however,  remained  pro- 
vokingly  silent,  so  Miss  Taylor  essayed  further. 

"  What  sort  of  people  are  the  Cresswells?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  old  man  's  a  fool ;  the  young  one  a  rascal ;  the 
girl  a  ninny,"  was  Miss  Smith's  succinct  and  acid  classi 
fication  of  the  county's  first  family ;  adding,  as  she  rose, 
"  but  they  own  us  body  and  soul."  She  hurried  out  of 
the  dining-room  without  further  remark.  Miss  Smith 
was  more  patient  with  black  folk  than  with  white. 

The  sun  was  hanging  just  above  the  tallest  trees  of 
the  swamp  when  Miss  Taylor,  weary  with  the  day's  work, 
climbed  into  the  buggy  beside  Bles.  They  wheeled  com 
fortably  down  the  road,  leaving  the  sombre  swamp,  with 
its  black-green,  to  the  right,  and  heading  toward  the 
golden-green  of  waving  cotton  fields.  Miss  Taylor  lay 
back,  listlessly,  and  drank  the  soft  warm  air  of  the  lan 
guorous  Spring.  She  thought  of  the  golden  sheen  of  the 
cotton,  and  the  cold  March  winds  of  New  England;  of 
her  brother  who  apparently  noted  nothing  of  leaves  and 
winds  and  seasons ;  and  of  the  mighty  Cresswells  whom 
Miss  Smith  so  evidently  disliked.  Suddenly  she  became 
aware  of  her  long  silence  and  the  silence  of  the  boy. 

"  Bles,"  she  began  didactically,  "  where  are  you  from?  " 

He  glanced  across  at  her  and  answered  shortly: 

"  Georgia,  ma'am,"  and  was  silent. 

The  girl  tried  again. 

"Georgia  is  a  large  State,"  —  tentatively. 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"Are  you  going  back  there  when  you  finish?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  —  and  work  for  your  people." 


TOWN  35 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

She  stopped,  puzzled,  and  looked  about.  The  old  horse 
jogged  lazily  on,  and  Bles  switched  him  unavailingly. 
Somehow  she  had  missed  the  way  to-day.  The  Veil  hung 
thick,  sombre,  impenetrable.  Well,  she  had  done  her 
duty,  and  slowly  she  nestled  back  and  watched  the  far-off 
green  and  golden  radiance  of  the  cotton. 

"  Bles,"  she  said  impulsively,  "  shall  I  tell  you  of  the 
Golden  Fleece?" 

He  glanced  at  her  again. 

"  Yes'm,  please,"  he  said. 

She  settled  herself  almost  luxuriously,  and  began  the 
/     story  of  Jason  and  the  Argonauts. 

ss"*rhe  Boy  remained  silent.  And  when  she  had  finished, 
he  still  sat  silent,  elbow  on  knee,  absently  flicking  the 
jogging  horse  and  staring  ahead  at  the  horizon.  She 
looked  at  him  doubtfully  with  some  disappointment  that 
his  hearing  had  apparently  shared  so  little  of  the  joy  of 
her  telling;  and,  too,  there  was  mingled  a  vague  sense  of 
having  lowered  herself  to  too  familiar  fellowship  with  this 
—  this  boy.  She  straightened  herself  instinctively  and 
thought  of  some  remark  that  would  restore  proper  rela 
tions.  She  had  not  found  it  before  he  said,  slowly: 

"  All  yon  is  Jason's." 

"  What?  "  she  asked,  puzzled. 

He  pointed  with  one  sweep  of  his  long  arm  to  the 
quivering  mass  of  green-gold  foliage  that  swept  from 
swamp  to  horizon. 

"  All  yon  golden  fleece  is  Jason's  now,"  he  repeated. 

"  I  thought  it  was  —  Cresswell's,"  she  said. 

"  That 's  what  I  mean." 

She  suddenly  understood  that  the  story  had  sunk 
deeply. 


36  THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,"  she  said  methodically, 
"  for  Jason  was  a  brave  adventurer  —  " 

"  I  thought  he  was  a  thief." 

"  Oh,  well  —  those  were  other  times." 

"  The  Cresswells  are  thieves  now." 

Miss  Taylor  answered  sharply. 

"  Bles,  I  am  ashamed  to  hear  you  talk  so  of  your 
neighbors  simply  because  they  are  white." 

But  Bles  continued. 

"  This  is  the  Black  Sea,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  dull 
cabins  that  crouched  here  and  there  upon  the  earth,  with 
the  dark  twinkling  of  their  black  folk  darting  out  to  see 
the  strangers  ride  by. 

Despite  herself  Miss  Taylor  caught  the  allegory  and 
half  whispered,  "  Lo !  the  King  himself !  "  as  a  black  man 
almost  rose  from  the  tangled  earth  at  their  side.  He  was 
tall  and  thin  and  sombre-hued,  with  a  carven  face  and  thick 
gray  hair. 

"  Your  servant,  mistress,"  he  said,  with  a  sweeping 
bow  as  he  strode  toward  the  swamp.  Miss  Taylor  stopped 
him,  for  he  looked  interesting,  and  might  answer  some 
of  her  brother's  questions.  He  turned  back  and  stood 
regarding  her  with  sorrowful  eyes  and  ugly  mouth. 

"  Do  you  live  about  here  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I'se  lived  here  a  hundred  years,"  he  answered.  She 
did  not  believe  it;  he  might  be  seventy,  eighty,  or  even 
ninety  —  indeed,  there  was  about  him  that  indefinable 
sense  of  age  —  some  shadow  of  endless  living ;  but  a 
hundred  seemed  absurd. 

"  You  know  the  people  pretty  well,  then?  " 

"  I  knows  dem  all.  I  knows  most  of  'em  better  dan 
dey  knows  demselves.  I  knows  a  heap  of  tings  in  dis 
world  and  in  de  next." 


TOWN  37 

"  This  is  a  great  cotton  country?  " 

"  Dey  don't  raise  no  cotton  now  to  what  dey  used  to 
when  old  Gen'rel  Cresswell  fust  come  from  Carolina;  den 
it  was  a  bale  and  a  half  to  the  acre  on  stalks  dat  looked 
like  young  brushwood.  Dat  was  cotton." 

"  You  know  the  Cresswells,  then?  " 

"  Know  dem?     I  knowed  dem  afore  dey  was  born." 

"  They  are  —  wealthy  people  ?  " 

"  Dey  rolls  in  money  and  dey'se  quality,  too.  No 
shoddy  upstarts  dem,  but  born  to  purple,  lady,  born  to 
purple.  Old  Gen'ral  Cresswell  had  niggers  and  acres  no 
end  back  dere  in  Carolina.  He  brung  a  part  of  dem  here 
and  here  his  son,  de  father  of  dis  Colonel  Cresswell,  was 
born.  De  son  —  I  knowed  him  well  —  he  had  a  tousand 
niggers  and  ten  tousand  acres  afore  de  war." 

"  Were  they  kind  to  their  slaves  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yaas,  yaas,  ma'am,  dey  was  careful  of  de're  nig 
gers  and  would  n't  let  de  drivers  whip  'em  much." 

"  And  these  Cresswells  to-day?  " 

"Oh,  dey're  quality  —  high-blooded  folks  —  dey'se  lost 
some  land  and  niggers,  but,  lordy,  nuttin'  can  buy  de 
Cresswells,  dey  naturally  owns  de  world." 

"  Are  they  honest  and  kind?  " 

"  Oh,  yaas,  ma'am  —  dey'se  good  white  folks." 

"Good  white  folk?" 

"  Oh,  yaas,  ma'am  —  course  you  knows  white  folks  will 
I  be  white  folks  —  white  folks  will  be  white  folks.  Your 
^servant,  ma'am."  And  the  swamp  swallowed  him. 

The  boy's  eyes  followed  him  as  he  whipped  up  the  horse. 

"  He  's  going  to  Elspeth's,"  he  said. 

"Who  is  he?" 

"  We  just  call  him  Old  Pappy  —  he  's  a  preacher,  and 
some  folks  say  a  conjure  man,  too." 


38      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"And  who  is  Elspeth?  " 

"  She  lives  in  the  swamp  —  she  's  a  kind  of  witch,  I 
reckon,  like  —  like  —  " 

"Like  Medea?" 

"  Yes  —  only  —  I  do  n't  know  —  "  and  he  grew 
thoughtful. 

The  road  turned  now  and  far  away  to  the  eastward  rose 
the  first  straggling  cabins  of  the  town.  Creeping  toward 
them  down  the  road  rolled  a  dark  squat  figure.  It  grew 
and  spread  slowly  on  the  horizon  until  it  became  a  fat  old 
black  woman,  hooded  and  aproned,  with  great  round  hips 
and  massive  bosom.  Her  face  was  heavy  and  homely  until 
she  looked  up  and  lifted  the  drooping  cheeks,  and  then 
kindly  old  eyes  beamed  on  the  young  teacher,  as  she 
curtsied  and  cried: 

"  Good-evening,  honey !  Good-evening !  You  sure  is 
pretty  dis  evening." 

"  Why,  Aunt  Rachel,  how  are  you? "  There  was 
genuine  pleasure  in  the  girl's  tone. 

"  Just  tolerable,  honey,  bless  de  Lord !  Rumatiz  is 
kind  o'  bad  and  Aunt  Rachel  ain't  so  young  as  she  use 
ter  be." 

"  And  what  brings  you  to  town  afoot  this  time  of  day  ?  " 

The  face  fell  again  to  dull  care  and  the  old  eyes  crept 
away.  She  fumbled  with  her  cane. 

"  It 's  de  boys  again,  honey,"  she  returned  solemnly ; 
"  dey'se  good  boys,  dey  is  good  to  de're  old  mammy,  but 
dey'se  high  strung  and  dey  gits  fighting  and  drinking 
and  —  and  —  last  Saturday  night  dey  got  took  up  again. 
I'se  been  to  Jedge  Grey  —  I  use  to  tote  him  on  my  knee, 
honey  —  I'se  been  to  him  to  plead  him  not  to  let  'em  go 
on  de  gang,  'cause  you  see,  honey,"  and  she  stroked  the 


TOWN  39 

girl's  sleeve  as  if  pleading  with  her,  too,  "you  see  it 
done  ruins  boys  to  put  'em  on  de  gang." 

Miss  Taylor  tried  hard  to  think  of  something  comfort 
ing  to  say,  but  words  seemed  inadequate  to  cheer  the  old 
soul;  but  after  a  few  moments  they  rode  on,  leaving  the 
kind  face  again  beaming  and  dimpling. 

And  now  the  country  town  of  Toomsville  lifted  itself 
above  the  cotton  and  corn,  fringed  with  dirty  straggling 
cabins  of  black  folk.  The  road  swung  past  the  iron  water 
ing  trough,  turned  sharply  and,  after  passing  two  or 
three  pert  cottages  and  a  stately  house,  old  and  faded, 
opened  into  the  wide  square.  Here  pulsed  the  very  life 
and  being  of  the  land.  Yonder  great  bales  of  cotton, 
yellow-white  in  its  soiled  sacking,  piled  in  lofty,  dusty 
mountains,  lay  listening  for  the  train  that,  twice  a  day, 
ran  out  to  the  greater  world.  Round  about,  tied  to  the 
well-gnawed  hitching  rails,  were  rows  of  mules  —  mules 
with  back  cloths ;  mules  with  saddles ;  mules  hitched  to  long 
wagons,  buggies,  and  rickety  gigs ;  mules  munching  golden 
ears  of  corn,  and  mules  drooping  their  heads  in  sorrow 
ful  memory  of  better  days. 

Beyond  the  cotton  warehouse  smoked  the  chimneys  of 
the  seed-mill  and  the  cotton-gin;  a  red  livery-stable 
faced  them  and  all  about  three  sides  of  the  square  ran 
stores ;  big  stores  and  small  wide-windowed,  narrow  stores. 
Some  had  old  steps  above  the  worn  clay  side-walks,  and 
some  were  flush  with  the  ground.  All  had  a  general  sense 
of  dilapidation  —  save  one,  the  largest  and  most  im 
posing,  a  three-story  brick.  This  was  Caldwell's 
"  Emporium  "  ;  and  here  Bles  stopped  and  Miss  Taylor 
entered. 

Mr.  Caldwell  himself  hurried  forward;  and  the  whole 


40   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

store,  clerks  and  customers,  stood  at  attention,  for  Miss 
Taylor  was  yet  new  to  the  county. 

She  bought  a  few  trifles  and  then  approached  her  main 
business. 

"  My  brother  wants  some  information  about  the  county, 
Mr.  Caldwell,  and  I  am  only  a  teacher,  and  do  not  know 
much  about  conditions  here." 

"Ah!  where  do  you  teach?"  asked  Mr.  Caldwell.  He 
was  certain  he  knew  the  teachers  of  all  the  white  schools 
in  the  county.  Miss  Taylor  told  him.  He  stiffened 
slightly  but  perceptibly,  like  a  man  clicking  the  buckles 
of  his  ready  armor,  and  two  townswomen  who  listened 
gradually  turned  their  backs,  but  remained  near. 

"  Yes  —  yes,"  he  said,  with  uncomfortable  haste. 
"  Any  —  er  —  information  —  of  course  —  "  Miss  Tay 
lor  got  out  her  notes. 

"  The  leading  land-owners,"  she  began,  sorting  the  notes 
searchingly,  "  I  should  like  to  know  something  about 
them." 

"  Well,  Colonel  Cresswell  is,  of  course,  our  greatest 
landlord  —  a  high-bred  gentleman  of  the  old  school.  He 
and  his  son  —  a  worthy  successor  to  the  name  —  hold 
some  fifty  thousand  acres.  They  may  be  considered  rep 
resentative  types.  Then,  Mr.  Maxwell  has  ten  thousand 
acres  and  Mr.  Tolliver  a  thousand." 

Miss  Taylor  wrote  rapidly.  "And  cotton?"  she 
asked. 

"  We  raise  considerable  cotton,  but  not  nearly  what  we 
ought  to ;  nigger  labor  is  too  worthless." 

"Oh!   The  Negroes  are  not,  then,  very  efficient?" 

"Efficient!"  snorted  Mr.  Caldwell;  at  last  she  had 
broached  a  phase  of  the  problem  upon  which  he  could 
dilate  with  fervor.  "  They  're  the  lowest-down,  ornriest  — 


TOWN  41 

begging  your  pardon  —  good-for-nothing  loafers  you 
ever  heard  of.  Why,  we  just  have  to  carry  them  and 
care  for  them  like  children.  Look  yonder,"  he  pointed 
across  the  square  to  the  court-house.  It  was  an  old 
square  brick-and-stucco  building,  sombre  and  stilted  and 
very  dirty.  Out  of  it  filed  a  stream  of  men  —  some  black 
and  shackled ;  some  white  and  swaggering  and  liberal  with 
tobacco- juice;  some  white  and  shaven  and  stiff.  "  Court 's 
just  out,"  pursued  Mr.  Caldwell,  "  and  them  niggers  have 
just  been  sent  to  the  gang  —  young  ones,  too;  educated 
but  good  for  nothing.  They  're  all  that  way." 

Miss  Taylor  looked  up  a  little  puzzled,  and  became 
aware  of  a  battery  of  eyes  and  ears.  Everybody  seemed 
craning  and  listening,  and  she  felt  a  sudden  embarrass 
ment  and  a  sense  of  half-veiled  hostility  in  the  air.  With 
one  or  two  further  perfunctory  questions,  and  a  hasty 
expression  of  thanks,  she  escaped  into  the  air. 

The  whole  square  seemed  loafing  and  lolling  —  the  white 
world  perched  on  stoops  and  chairs,  in  doorways  and 
windows ;  the  black  world  filtering  down  from  doorways 
to  side-walk  and  curb.  The  hot,  dusty  quadrangle 
stretched  in  dreary  deadness  toward  the  temple  of  the 
town,  as  if  doing  obeisance  to  the  court-house.  Down  the 
court-house  steps  the  sheriff,  with  Winchester  on  shoulder, 
was  bringing  the  last  prisoner  —  a  curly-headed  boy  with 
golden  face  and  big  brown  frightened  eyes. 

"  It 's  one  of  Dunn's  boys,"  said  Bles.  "  He  's  drunk 
again,  and  they  say  he  's  been  stealing.  I  expect  he  was 
hungry."  And  they  wheeled  out  of  the  square. 

Miss  Taylor  was  tired,  and  the  hastily  scribbled  letter 
which  she  dropped  into  the  post  in  passing  was  not  as 
clearly  expressed  as  she  could  wish. 

A  great-voiced  giant,  brown  and  bearded,  drove  past 


42      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

them,  roaring  a  hymn.  He  greeted  Bles  with  a  compre 
hensive  wave  of  the  hand. 

"  I  guess  Tylor  has  been  paid  off,"  said  Bles,  but  Miss 
Taylor  was  too  disgusted  to  answer.  Further  on  they 
overtook  a  tall  young  yellow  boy  walking  awkwardly  be 
side  a  handsome,  bold-faced  girl.  Two  white  men  came 
riding  by.  One  leered  at  the  girl,  and  she  laughed  back, 
while  the  yellow  boy  strode  sullenly  ahead.  As  the  two 
white  riders  approached  the  buggy  one  said  to  the  other: 

"  Who  's  that  nigger  with?  " 

"  One  of  them  nigger  teachers." 

"  Well,  they  '11  stop  this  damn  riding  around  or  they  '11 
hear  something,"  and  they  rode  slowly  by. 

Miss  Taylor  felt  rather  than  heard  their  words,  and 
she  was  uncomfortable.  The  sun  fell  fast ;  the  long  shad 
ows  of  the  swamp  swept  soft  coolness  on  the  red  road. 
Then  afar  in  front  a  curled  cloud  of  white  dust  arose  and 
out  of  it  came  the  sound  of  galloping  horses. 

"  Who  's  this?  "  asked  Miss  Taylor. 

"  The  Cress  wells,  I  think ;  they  usually  ride  to  town 
about  this  time."  But  already  Miss  Taylor  had  descried 
the  brown  and  tawny  sides  of  the  speeding  horses. 

"  Good  gracious !  "  she  thought.  "  The  Cresswells  !  " 
And  with  it  came  a  sudden  desire  not  to  meet  them  —  just 
then.  She  glanced  toward  the  swamp.  The  sun  was  sift 
ing  blood-red  lances  through  the  trees.  A  little  wagon- 
road  entered  the  wood  and  disappeared.  Miss  Taylor 
saw  it. 

"  Let 's  see  the  sunset  in  the  swamp,"  she  said  suddenly. 
On  came  the  galloping  horses.  Bles  looked  up  in  surprise, 
then  silently  turned  into  the  swamp.  The  horses  flew  by, 
their  hoof-beats  dying  in  the  distance.  A  dark  green 
silence  lay  about  them  lit  by  mighty  crimson  glories  be- 


TOWN  43 

yond.  Miss  Taylor  leaned  back  and  watched  it  dreamily 
till  a  sense  of  oppression  grew  on  her.  The  sun  was 
sinking  fast. 

"  Where  does  this  road  come  out?  "  she  asked  at  last. 

"  It  does  n't  come  out." 

"Where  does  it  go?" 

"  It  goes  to  Elspeth's." 

"  Why,  we  must  turn  back  immediately.  I  thought  — 
But  Bles  was  already  turning.  They  were  approaching 
the  main  road  again  when  there  came  a  fluttering  as  of  a 
great  bird  beating  its  wings  amid  the  forest.  Then  a 
girl,  lithe,  dark  brown,  and  tall,  leaped  lightly  into  the 
path  with  greetings  on  her  lips  for  Bles.  At  the  sight  of 
the  lady  she  drew  suddenly  back  and  stood  motionless 
regarding  Miss  Taylor,  searching  her  with  wide  black 
liquid  eyes.  Miss  Taylor  was  a  little  startled. 

"  Good  —  good-evening,"  she  said,  straightening  her 
self. 

The  girl  was  still  silent  and  the  horse  stopped.  One 
tense  moment  pulsed  through  all  the  swamp.  Then  the 
girl,  still  motionless  —  still  looking  Miss  Taylor  through 
and  through  —  said  with  slow  deliberateness : 

"  I  hates  you." 

The  teacher  in  Miss  Taylor  strove  to  rebuke  this  un 
conventional  greeting  but  the  woman  in  her  spoke  first 
and  asked  almost  before  she  knew  it  — 

"Why?" 


CHAPTER  V 
ZORA 

ZORA,  child  of  the  swamp,  was  a  heathen  hoyden  of 
twelve  wayward,  untrained  years.  Slight,  straight, 
strong,  full-blooded,  she  had  dreamed  her  life 
away  in  wilful  wandering  through  her  dark  and  sombre 
kingdom  until  she  was  one  with  it  in  all  its  moods;  mis- 
'chievous,  secretive,  brooding;  full  of  great  and  awful 
visions,  steeped  body  and  soul  In  wood-lore.  Her  home 
was  out  of  doors,  the  cabin  of  Elspeth  her  port  of  call  for 
talking  and  eating.  She  had  not  known,  she  had  scarcely 
seen,  a  child  of  her  own  age  until  Bles  Alwyn  had  fled  from 
her  dancing  in  the  night,  and  she  had  searched  and  found 
him  sleeping  in  the  misty  morning  light.  It  was  to  her  a 
strange  new  thing  to  see  a  fellow  of  like  years  with  her 
self,  and  she  gripped  him  to  her  soul  in  wild  interest  and 
new  curiosity.  Yet  this  childish  friendship  was  so  new 
and  incomprehensible  a  thing  to  her  that  she  did  not  know 
how  to  express  it.  At  first  she  pounced  upon  him  in 
mirthful,  almost  impish  glee,  teasing  and  mocking  and  half 
scaring  him,  despite  his  fifteen  years  of  young  manhood. 
"  Yes,  they  is  devils  down  yonder  behind  the  swamp," 
she  would  whisper,  warningly,  when,  after  the  first  meet 
ing,  he  had  crept  back  again  and  again,  half  fascinated, 
half  amused  to  greet  her ;  "  I'se  seen  'em,  I'se  heard  'em, 
'cause  my  mammy  is  a  witch." 

[44] 


ZORA  45 

The  boy  would  sit  and  watch  her  wonderingly  as  she 
lay  curled  along  the  low  branch  of  the  mighty  oak,  cling 
ing  with  little  curved  limbs  and  flying  fingers.  Possessed 
by  the  spirit  of  her  vision,  she  would  chant,  low-voiced, 
tremulous,  mischievous : 

"  One  night  a  devil  come  to  me  on  blue  fire  out  of  a  big 
red  flower  that  grows  in  the  south  swamp;  he  was  tall 
and  big  and  strong  as  anything,  and  when  he  spoke  the 
trees  shook  and  the  stars  fell.  Even  mammy  was  afeared ; 
and  it  takes  a  lot  to  make  mammy  afeared,  'cause  she  's  a 
witch  and  can  conjure.  He  said,  'I'll  come  when  you 
die  —  I'll  come  when  you  die,  and  take  the  conjure  off 
you,'  and  then  he  went  away  on  a  big  fire." 

"  Shucks  !  "  the  boy  would  say,  trying  to  express  scorn 
ful  disbelief  when,  in  'truth,  he  was  awed  and  doubtful. 
Always  he  would  glance  involuntarily  back  along  the  path 
behind  him.  Then  her  low  birdlike  laughter  would  rise 
and  ring  through  the  trees. 

So  passed  a  year,  and  there  came  the  time  when  her 
wayward  teasing  and  the  almost  painful  thrill  of  her 
tale-telling  nettled  him  and  drove  him  away.  For  long 
months  he  did  not  meet  her,  until  one  day  he  saw  her 
deep  eyes  fixed  longingly  upon  him  from  a  thicket  in  the 
swamp.  He  went  and  greeted  her.  But  she  said  no 
word,  sitting  nested  among  the  greenwood  with  passion 
ate,  proud  silence,  until  he  had  sued  long  for  peace ;  then 
in  sudden  new  friendship  she  had  taken  his  hand  and  led 
him  through  the  swamp,  showing  him  all  the  beauty  of 
her  swamp-world  — -  great  shadowy  oaks  and  limpid  pools, 
lone,  naked  trees  and  sweet  flowers ;  the  whispering  and 
flitting  of  wild  things,  and  the  winging  of  furtive  birds. 
She  had  dropped  the  impish  mischief  of  her  way,  and  up 
from  beneath  it  rose  a  wistful,  visionary  tenderness;  a 


46      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

mighty  half-confessed,  half-concealed,  striving  for  un 
known  things.  He  seemed  to  have  found  a  new  friend. 

And  to-day,  after  he  had  taken  Miss  Taylor  home  and 
supped,  he  came  out  in  the  twilight  under  the  new  moon 
and  whistled  the  tremulous  note  that  always  brought  her. 

"  Why  did  you  speak  so  to  Miss  Taylor  ?  "  he  asked, 
reproachfully.  She  considered  the  matter  a  moment. 

"  You  don't  understand,"  she  said.  "  You  can't  never 
understand.  I  can  see  right  through  people.  You  can't. 
You  never  had  a  witch  for  a  mammy  —  did  you  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Well,  then,  you  see  I  have  to  take  care  of  you  and 
see  things  for  you." 

"  Zora,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "  you  must  learn  to 
read." 

"What  for?" 

"  So  that  you  can  read  books  and  know  lots  of  things." 

"Don't  white  folks  make  books?" 

"  Yes  —  most  of  the  books." 

"  Pooh !  I  knows  more  than  they  do  now  —  a  heap 
more." 

"  In  some  ways  you  do ;  but  they  know  things  that  give 
them  power  and  wealth  and  make  them  rule." 

"No,  no.  They  don't  really  rule;  they  just  thinks 
they  rule.  They  just  got  things,  —  heavy,  dead  things. 
We  black  folks  is  got  the  spirit.  We'se  lighter  and  cun- 
ninger ;  we  fly  right  through  them ;  we  go  and  come  again 
just  as  we  wants  to.  Black  folks  is  wonderful." 

He  did  not  understand  what  she  meant;  but  he  knew 
what  he  wanted  and  he  tried  again. 

"Even  if  white  folks  don't  know  everything  they  know 
different  things  from  us,  and  we  ought  to  know  what  they 
know." 


ZORA  47 

This  appealed  to  her  somewhat. 

"  I  don't  believe  they  know  much,"  she  concluded ;  "  but 
1  '11  learn  to  read  and  just  see." 

"  It  will  be  hard  work,"  he  warned.  But  he  had  come 
prepared  for  acquiescence.  He  took  a  primer  from  his 
pocket  and,  lighting  a  match,  showed  her  the  alphabet. 

"  Learn  those,"  he  said. 

"What  for?"  she  asked,  looking  at  the  letters 
disdainfully. 

"  Because  that 's  the  way,"  he  said,  as  the  light  flared 
and  went  out. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  she  disputed,  disappearing  in  the 
wood  and  returning  with  a  pine-knot.  They  lighted  it 
and  its  smoky  flame  threw  wavering  shadows  about.  She 
turned  the  leaves  till  she  came  to  a  picture  which  she 
studied  intently. 

"  Is  this  about  this  ?  "  she  asked,  pointing  alternately 
to  reading  and  picture. 

"  Yes.    And  if  you  learn  —  " 

"  Read  it,"  she  commanded.    He  read  the  page. 

"  Again,"  she  said,  making  him  point  out  each  word. 
Then  she  read  it  after  him,  accurately,  with  more  perfect 
expression.  He  stared  at  her.  She  took  the  book,  and 
with  a  nod  was  gone. 

It  was  Saturday  and  dark.  She  never  asked  Bles  to 
her  home  —  to  that  mysterious  black  cabin  in  mid-swamp. 
He  thought  her  ashamed  of  it,  and  delicately  refrained 
from  going.  So  to-night  she  slipped  away,  stopped  and 
listened  till  she  heard  his  footsteps  on  the  pike,  and  then 
flew  homeward.  Presently  the  old  black  cabin  loomed  be 
fore  her  with  its  wide  flapping  door.  The  old  woman 
was  bending  over  the  fire,  stirring  some  savory  mess,  and 
a  yellow  girl  with  a  white  baby  on  one  arm  was  placing 


48      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

dishes  on  a  rickety  wooden  table  when  Zora  suddenly  and 
noiselessly  entered  the  door. 

"Come,  is  you?  I  'lowed  victuals  would  fetch  you," 
grumbled  the  hag. 

But  Zora  deigned  no  answer.  She  walked  placidly  to 
the  table,  where  she  took  up  a  handful  of  cold  corn-bread 
and  meat,  and  then  went  over  and  curled  up  by  the  fire. 

Elspeth  and  the  girl  talked  and  laughed  coarsely,  and 
the.  night  wore  on. 

By  and  by  loud  laughter  and  tramping  came  from  the 
road  —  a  sound  of  numerous  footsteps.  Zora  listened, 
leapt  to  her  feet  and  started  to  the  door.  The  old  crone 
threw  an  epithet  after  her;  but  she  flashed  through  the 
lighted  doorway  and  was  gone,  followed  by  the  oath  and 
shouts  from  the  approaching  men.  In  the  hut  night  fled 
with  wild  song  and  revel,  and  day  dawned  again.  Out  from 
some  fastness  of  the  wood  crept  Zora.  She  stopped  and 
bathed  in  a  pool  and  combed  her  close-clung  hair,  then 
entered  silently  to  breakfast. 

Thus  began  in  the  dark  swamp  that  primal  battle  with 
the  Word.  She  hated  it  and  despised  it,  but  her  pride 
was  in  arms  and  her  one  great  life  friendship  in  the 
balance.  She  fought  her  way  with  a  dogged  persistence 
that  brought  word  after  word  of  praise  and  interest  from 
Bles.  Then,  once  well  begun,  her  busy,  eager  mind  flew 
with  a  rapidity  that  startled;  the  stories  especially  she 
devoured  —  tales  of  strange  things  and  countries  and 
men  gripped  her  imagination  and  clung  to  her  memory. 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you  there  was  lots  to  learn?  "  he  asked 
once. 

"  I  knew  it  all,"  she  retorted ;  "  every  bit.  I'se  thought 
it  all  before;  only  the  little  things  is  different — and  I 
like  the  little,  strange  things." 


ZORA  49 

Spring  ripened  to  summer.  She  was  reading  well  and 
writing  some. 

"  Zora,"  he  announced  one  morning  under  their  forest 
oak,  "  you  must  go  to  school." 

She  eyed  him,  surprised. 

"Why?" 

"  You  've  found  some  things  worth  knowing  in  this 
world,  haven't  you,  Zora?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  admitted. 

"  But  there  are  more  —  many,  many  more  —  worlds 
on  worlds  of  things  —  you  have  not  dreamed  of." 

She  stared  at  him,  open-eyed,  and  a  wonder  crept  upon 
her  face  battling  with  the  old  assurance.  Then  she  looked 
down  at  her  bare  brown  feet  and  torn  gown. 

"  I  've  got  a  little  money,  Zora,"  he  said  quickly. 

But  she  lifted  her  head. 

"  I  '11  earn  mine,"  she  said.  t 

"  How?  "  he  asked  doubtfully. 

"  I  '11  pick  cotton." 

"Can  you?" 

"  Course  I  can." 

"  It 's  hard  work." 

She  hesitated. 

"I  don't  like  to  work,"  she  mused.  "You  see, 
mammy's  pappy  was  a  king's  son,  and  kings  don't  work. 
I  don't  work;  mostly  I  dreams.  But  I  can  work,  and  I 
will  —  for  the  wonder  things  —  and  for  you." 

So  the  summer  yellowed  and  silvered  into  fall.  All  the 
vacation  days  Bles  worked  on  the  farm,  and  Zora  read 
and  dreamed  and  studied  in  the  wood,  until  the  land  lay 
white  with  harvest.  Then,  without  warning,  she  appeared 
in  the  cotton-field  beside  Bles,  and  picked. 

It  was  hot,  sore  work.     The  sun  blazed;  her  bent  and 


50      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

untrained  back  pained,  and  the  soft  little  hands  bled.  But 
no  complaint  passed  her  lips;  her  hands  never  wavered, 
and  her  eyes  met  his  steadily  and  gravely.  She  bade  him 
good-night,  cheerily,  and  then  stole  away  to  the  wood, 
crouching  beneath  the  great  oak,  and  biting  back  the 
groans  that  trembled  on  her  lips.  Often,  she  fell  supper- 
less  to  sleep,  with  two  great  tears  creeping  down  her  tired 
cheeks. 

When  school-time  came  there  was  not  yet  money 
enough,  for  cotton-picking  was  not  far  advanced.  Yet 
Zora  would  take  no  money  from  Bles,  and  worked  ear 
nestly  away. 

Meantime  there  occurred  to  the  boy  the  momentous 
question  of  clothes.  Had  Zora  thought  of  them?  He 
feared  not.  She  knew  little  of  clothes  and  cared  less.  So 
one  day  in  town  he  dropped  into  CaldwelPs  "Emporium  " 
and  glanced  hesitantly  at  certain  ready-made  dresses. 
One  caught  his  eye.  It  came  from  the  great  Easterly 
mills  in  New  England  and  was  red  —  a  vivid  red.  The 
glowing  warmth  of  this  cloth  of  cotton  caught  the  eye  of 
Bles,  and  he  bought  the  gown  for  a  dollar  and  a  half. 

He  carried  it  to  Zora  in  the  wood,  and  unrolled  it  be 
fore  her  eyes  that  danced  with  glad  tears.  Of  course,  it 
was  long  and  wide ;  but  he  fetched  needle  and  thread  and 
scissors,  too.  It  was  a  full  month  after  school  had  begun 
when  they,  together  back  in  the  swamp,  shadowed  by  the 
foliage,  began  to  fashion  the  wonderful  garment.  At  the 
same  time  she  laid  ten  dollars  of  her  first  hard-earned 
money  in  his  hands. 

"  You  can  finish  the  first  year  with  this  money,"  Bles 
assured  her,  delighted,  "  and  then  next  year  you  must 
come  in  to  board ;  because,  you  see,  when  you  're  educated 
you  won't  want  to  live  in  the  swamp." 


THEY  TOGETHER,  BACK  IN  THE  SWAMP,  SHADOWED  BY 
THE  FOLIAGE,  BEGAN  TO  FASHION  THE  WONDERFUL 

GARMENT 


ZORA  51 

"  I  wants  to  live  here  always." 

"  But  not  at  Elspeth's." 

"  No-o  —  not  there,  not  there."  And  a  troubled  ques 
tioning  trembled  in  her  eyes,  but  brought  no  answering 
thought  in  his,  for  he  was  busy  with  his  plans. 

"  Then,  you  see,  Zora,  if  you  stay  here  you  '11  need  a 
new  house,  and  you  '11  want  to  learn  how  to  make  it 
beautiful." 

"  Yes,  a  beautiful,  great  castle  here  in  the  swamp,"  she 
dreamed ;  "  but,"  and  her  face  fell,  "  I  can't  get  money 
enough  to  board  in ;  and  I  don't  want  to  board  in  —  I 
wants  to  be  free." 

He  looked  at  her,  curled  down  so  earnestly  at  her 
puzzling  task,  and  a  pity  for  the  more  than  motherless 
child  swept  over  him.  He  bent  over  her,  nervously, 
eagerly,  and  she  laid  down  her  sewing  and  sat  silent  and 
passive  with  dark,  burning  eyes. 

"  Zora,"  he  said,  "  I  want  you  to  do  all  this  —  for  me." 

"  I  will,  if  you  wants  me  to,"  she  said  quietly,  but  with 
something  in  her  voice  that  made  him  look  half  startled 
into  her  beautiful  eyes  and  feel  a  queer  flushing  in  his 
face.  He  stretched  his  hand  out  and  taking  hers  held  it 
lightly  till  she  quivered  and  drew  away,  bending  again 
over  her  sewing. 

Then  a  nameless  exaltation  rose  within  his  heart. 

"  Zora,"  he  whispered,  "  I  've  got  a  plan." 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  asked,  still  with  bowed  head. 

"  Listen,  till  I  tell  you  of  the  Golden  Fleece." 

Then  she  too  heard  the  story  of  Jason.  Breathless  she 
listened,  dropping  her  sewing  and  leaning  forward,  eager- 
eyed.  Then  her  face  clouded. 

"  Do  you  s'pose  mammy 's  the  witch?  "  she  asked 
dubiously. 


52      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  No ;  she  would  n't  give  her  own  flesh  and  blood  to 
help  the  thieving  Jason." 

She  looked  at  him  searchingly. 

"  Yes,  she  would,  too,"  affirmed  the  girl,  and  then  she 
paused,  still  intently  watching  him.  She  was  troubled, 
and  again  a  question  eagerly  hovered  on  her  lips.  But  he 
continued : 

"  Then  we  must  escape  her,"  he  said  gayly.  "  See ! 
yonder  lies  the  Silver  Fleece  spread  across  the  brown  back 
of  the  world ;  let 's  get  a  bit  of  it,  and  hide  it  here  in 
the  swamp,  and  comb  it,  and  tend  it,  and  make  it  the 
beautifullest  bit  of  all.  Then  we  can  sell  it,  and  send  you 
to  school." 

She  sat  silently  bent  forward,  turning  the  picture  in 
her  mind.  Suddenly  forgetting  her  trouble,  she  bubbled 
with  laughter,  and  leaping  up  clapped  her  hands. 

"  And  I  knows  just  the  place !  "  she  cried  eagerly,  look 
ing  at  him  with  a  flash  of  the  old  teasing  mischief  — 
"  down  in  the  heart  of  the  swamp  —  where  dreams  and 
devils  lives." 

Up  at  the  school-house  Miss  Taylor  was  musing.  She 
had  been  invited  to  spend  the  summer  with  Mrs.  Grey  at 
Lake  George,  and  such  a  summer !  —  silken  clothes  and 
dainty  food,  motoring  and  golf,  well-groomed  men  and 
elegant  women.  She  would  not  have  put  it  in  just  that 
way,  but  the  vision  came  very  close  to  spelling  heaven  to 
her  mind.  Not  that  she  would  come  to  it  vacant-minded, 
but  rather  as  a  trained  woman,  starved  for  companion 
ship  and  wanting  something  of  the  beauty  and  ease  of 
life.  She  sat  dreaming  of  it  here  with  rows  of  dark  faces 
before  her,  and  the  singsong  wail  of  a  little  black  reader 
with  his  head  aslant  and  his  patched  kneepants. 


ZORA  53 

The  day  was  warm  and  languorous,  and  the  last  pale 
mist  of  the  Silver  Fleece  peeped  in  at  the  windows.  She 
tried  to  follow  the  third-reader  lesson  with  her  finger,  but 
persistently  off  she  went,  dreaming,  to  some  exquisite 
little  parlor  with  its  green  and  gold,  the  clink  of  dainty 
china  and  hum  of  low  voices,  and  the  blue  lake  in  the 
window ;  she  would  glance  up,  the  door  would  open  softly 
and  — 

Just  here  she  did  glance  up,  and  all  the  school  glanced 
with  her.  The  drone  of  the  reader  hushed.  The  door 
opened  softly,  and  upon  the  threshold  stood  Zora.  Her 
small  feet  and  slender  ankles  were  black  and  bare;  her 
dark,  round,  and  broad-browed  head  and  strangely  beauti 
ful  face  were  poised  almost  defiantly,  crowned  with  a 
misty  mass  of  waveless  hair,  and  lit  by  the  velvet  radiance 
of  two  wonderful  eyes.  And  hanging  from  shoulder  to 
ankle,  in  formless,  clinging  folds,  blazed  the  scarlet  gown. 


CHAPTER  VI 

COTTON 

THE  cry  of  the  naked  was  sweeping  the  world. 
From  the  peasant  toiling  in  Russia,  the  lady 
lolling  in  London,  the  chieftain  burning  in  Africa, 
and  the  Esquimaux  freezing  in  Alaska ;  from  long  lines  of 
hungry  men,  from  patient  sad-eyed  women,  from  old  folk 
and  creeping  children  went  up  the  cry,  "Clothes,  clothes ! " 
Far  away  the  wide  black  land  that  belts  the  South,  where 
Miss  Smith  worked  and  Miss  Taylor  drudged  and  Bles 
and  Zora  dreamed,  the  dense  black  land  sensed  the  cry 
and  heard  the  bound  of  answering  life  within  the  vast  dark 
breast.  All  that  dark  earth  heaved  in  mighty  travail  with 
the  bursting  bolls  of  the  cotton  while  black  attendant 
earth  spirits  swarmed  above,  sweating  and  crooning  to  its 
birth  pains. 

After  the  miracle  of  the  bursting  bolls,  when  the  land 
was  brightest  with  the  piled  mist  of  the  Fleece,  and  when 
the  cry  of  the  naked  was  loudest  in  the  mouths  of  men, 
a  sudden  cloud  of  workers  swarmed  between  the  Cotton 
and  the  Naked,  spinning  and  weaving  and  sewing  and 
carrying  the  Fleece  and  mining  and  minting  and  bringing 
the  Silver  till  the  Song  of  Service  filled  the  world  and  the 
poetry  of  Toil  was  in  the  souls  of  the  laborers.  Yet  ever 
and  alway  there  were  tense  silent  white-faced  men  moving 

[54] 


COTTON  55 

in  that  swarm  who  felt  no  poetry  and  heard  no  song,  and 
one  of  these  was  John  Taylor. 

He  was  tall,  thin,  cold,  and  tireless  and  he  moved  among 
the  Watchers  of  this  World  of  Trade.  In  the  rich  Wall 
Street  officers  of  Grey  and  Easterly,  Brokers,  Mr.  Taylor, 
as  chief  and  confidential  clerk  surveyed  the  world's  naked 
ness  and  the  supply  of  cotton  to  clothe  it.  The  object  of 
his  watching  was  frankly  stated  to  himself  and  to  his 
world.  He  purposed  going  into  business  neither  for  his 
own  health  nor  for  the  healing  or  clothing  of  the  peoples 
but  to  apply  his  knowledge  of  the  world's  nakedness  and 
of  black  men's  toil  in  such  a  way  as  to  bring  himself  wealth. 
In  this  he  was  but  following  the  teaching  of  his  highest 
ideal,  lately  deceased,  Mr.  Job  Grey.  Mr.  Grey  had  so 
successfully  manipulated  the  cotton  market  that  while 
black  men  who  made  the  cotton  starved  in  Alabama  and 
white  men  who  bought  it  froze  in  Siberia,  he  himself  sat  — 

"High  on  a  throne  of  royal  state 
That  far  outshone  the  wealth 
Of  Ormuz  or  of  Ind." 

Notwithstanding  this  he  died  eventually,  leaving  the  bur 
den  of  his  wealth  to  his  bewildered  wife,  and  his  business 
to  the  astute  Mr.  Easterly;  not  simply  to  Mr.  Easterly, 
but  in  a  sense  to  his  spiritual  heir,  John  Taylor. 

To  be  sure  Mr.  Taylor  had  but  a  modest  salary  and  no 
financial  interest  in  the  business,  but  he  had  knowledge  and 
business  daring  —  effrontery  even  —  and  the  determina 
tion  was  fixed  in  his  mind  to  be  a  millionaire  at  no  distant 
date.  Some  cautious  fliers  on  the  market  gave  him  enough 
surplus  to  send  his  sister  Mary  through  the  high  school 
of  his  country  home  in  New  Hampshire,  and  afterward 
through  Wellesley  College;  although  just  why  a  woman 


56      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

should  want  to  go  through  college  was  inexplicable  to 
John  Taylor,  and  he  was  still  uncertain  as  to  the  wisdom 
of  his  charity. 

When  she  had  an  offer  to  teach  in  the  South,  John 
Taylor  hurried  her  off  for  two  reasons :  he  was  profoundly 
interested  in  the  cotton-belt,  and  there  she  might  be  of 
service  to  him ;  and  secondly,  he  had  spent  all  the  money 
on  her  that  he  intended  to  at  present,  and  he  wanted  her 
to  go  to  work.  As  an  investment  he  did  not  consider  Mary 
a  success.  Her  letters  intimated  very  strongly  her  in 
tention  not  to  return  to  Miss  Smith's  School;  but  they 
also  brought  information  —  disjointed  and  incomplete,  to 
be  sure  —  which  mightily  interested  Mr.  Taylor  and  sent 
him  to  atlases,  encyclopaedias,  and  census-reports.  When 
he  went  to  that  little  lunch  with  old  Mrs.  Grey  he  was  not 
sure  that  he  wanted  his  sister  to  leave  the  cotton-belt  just 
yet.  After  lunch  he  was  sure  that  he  did  not  want  her  to 
leave. 

The  rich  Mrs.  Grey  was  at  the  crisis  of  her  fortunes. 
She  was  an  elderly  lady,  in  those  uncertain  years  beyond 
fifty,  and  had  been  left  suddenly  with  more  millions  than 
she  could  easily  count.  Personally  she  was  inclined  to 
spend  her  money  in  bettering  the  world  right  off,  in  such 
ways  as  might  from  time  to  time  seem  attractive.  This 
course,  to  her  husband's  former  partner  and  present  ex 
ecutor,  Mr.  Edward  Easterly,  was  not  only  foolish  but 
wicked,  and,  incidentally,  distinctly  unprofitable  to  him. 
He  had  expressed  himself  strongly  to  Mrs.  Grey  last  night 
at  dinner  and  had  reinforced  his  argument  by  a  pointed 
letter  written  this  morning. 

To  John  Taylor  Mrs.  Grey's  disposal  of  the  income  was 
unbelievable  blasphemy  against  the  memory  of  a  mighty 
man.  He  did  not  put  this  in  words  to  Mrs.  Grey  —  he 


COTTON  57 

was  only  head  clerk  in  her  late  husband's  office  —  but  he 
became  watchful  and  thoughtful.  He  ate  his  soup  in 
silence  when  she  descanted  on  various  benevolent  schemes. 

"  Now,  what  do  you  know,"  she  asked  finally,  "  about 
Negroes  —  about  educating  them  ?  "  Mr.  Taylor  over  his 
fish  was  about  to  deny  all  knowledge  of  any  sort  on  the 
subject,  but  all  at  once  he  recollected  his  sister,  and  a  sud 
den  gleam  of  light  radiated  his  mental  gloom. 

"  Have  a  sister  who  is  —  er  —  devoting  herself  to 
teaching  them,"  he  said. 

"  Is  that  so!  "  cried  Mrs.  Grey,  joyfully.  "  Where  is 
she?" 

"  In  Tooms  County,  Alabama  —  in  —  "  Mr.  Taylor 
consulted  a  remote  mental  pocket  — "  in  Miss  Sarah 
Smith's  school." 

"  Why,  how  fortunate !  I  'm  so  glad  I  mentioned  the 
matter.  You  see,  Miss  Smith  is  a  sister  of  a  friend  of 
ours,  Congressman  Smith  of  New  Jersey,  and  she  has  just 
written  to  me  for  help ;  a  very  touching  letter,  too,  about 
the  poor  blacks.  My  father  set  great  store  by  blacks  and 
was  a  leading  abolitionist  before  he  died." 

Mr.  Taylor  was  thinking  fast.  Yes,  the  name  of  Con 
gressman  Peter  Smith  was  quite  familiar.  Mr.  Easterly, 
as  chairman  of  the  Republican  State  Committee  of  New 
Jersey,  had  been  compelled  to  discipline  Mr.  Smith  pretty 
severely  for  certain  socialistic  votes  in  the  House,  and 
consequently  his  future  career  was  uncertain.  It  was  im 
portant  that  such  a  man  should  not  have  too  much  to  do 
with  Mrs.  Grey's  philanthropies  —  at  least,  in  his  present 
position. 

"  Should  like  to  have  you  meet  and  talk  with  my  sister, 
Mrs.  Grey ;  she 's  a  Wellesley  graduate,"  said  Taylor, 
finally. 


58  THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

Mrs.  Grey  was  delighted.  It  was  a  combination  which 
she  felt  she  needed.  Here  was  a  college-girl  who  could 
direct  her  philanthropies  and  her  etiquette  during  the 
summer.  Forthwith  Mary  Taylor  received  an  intimation 
from  her  brother  that  vast  interests  depended  on  her 
summer  vacation. 

Thus  it  had  happened  that  Miss  Taylor  came  to  Lake 
George  for  her  vacation  after  the  first  year  at  the  Smith 
School,  and  she  and  Miss  Smith  had  silently  agreed  as  she 
left  that  it  would  be  better  for  her  not  to  return.  But  the 
gods  of  lower  Broadway  thought  otherwise.  Not  that 
Mary  Taylor  did  not  believe  in  Miss  Smith's  work,  she 
was  too  honest  not  to  believe  in  education;  but  she  was 
sure  that  this  was  not  her  work,  and  she  had  not  as  yet 
perfected  in  her  own  mind  any  theory  of  the  world  into 
which  black  folk  fitted.  She  was  rather  taken  back,  there 
fore,  to  be  regarded  as  an  expert  on  the  problem.  First 
her  brother  attacked  her,  not  simply  on  cotton,  but,  to 
her  great  surprise,  on  Negro  education;  and  after  listen 
ing  to  her  halting  uncertain  remarks,  he  suggested  to  her 
certain  matters  which  it  would  be  better  for  her  to  believe 
when  Mrs.  Grey  talked  to  her. 

"  Interested  in  darkies,  you  see,"  he  concluded,  "  and 
looks  to  you  to  tell  things.  Better  go  easy  and  suggest  a 
waiting-game  before  she  goes  in  heavy." 

"  But  Miss  Smith  needs  money  —  "  the  New  England 
conscience  prompted.  John  Taylor  cut  in  sharply: 

"  We  all  need  money,  and  I  know  people  who  need  Mrs. 
Grey's  more  than  Miss  Smith  does  at  present." 

Miss  Taylor  found  the  Lake  George  colony  charming. 
It  was  not  ultra-fashionable,  but  it  had  wealth  and  leisure 
and  some  breeding.  Especially  was  this  true  of  a  cir 
cumscribed,  rather  exclusive,  set  which  centred  around 


COTTON  59 

the  Vanderpools  of  New  York  and  Boston.  They,  or 
rather  Mr.  Vanderpool's  connections,  were  of  old  Dutch 
New  York  stock ;  his  father  it  was  who  had  built  the  Lake 
George  cottage. 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  was  a  Wells  of  Boston,  and  endured 
Lake  George  now  and  then  during  the  summer  for  her 
husband's  sake,  although  she  regarded  it  all  as  rather 
a  joke.  This  summer  promised  to  be  unusually  lonesome 
for  her,  and  she  was  meditating  a  retreat  to  the  Massa 
chusetts  north  shore  when  she  chanced  to  meet  Mary 
Taylor,  at  a  miscellaneous  dinner,  and  found  her  inter 
esting.  She  discovered  that  this  young  woman  knew 
things,  that  she  could  talk  books,  and  that  she  was  rather 
pretty.  To  be  sure  she  knew  no  people,  but  Mrs.  Vander 
pool  knew  enough  to  even  things. 

"  By  the  bye,  I  met  some  charming  Alabama  people 
last  winter,  in  Montgomery  —  the  Cresswells ;  do  you 
know  them?  "  she  asked  one  day,  as  they  were  lounging 
in  wicker  chairs  on  the  Vanderpool  porch.  Then  she  an 
swered  the  query  herself :  "  No,  of  course  you  could  not. 
It  is  too  bad  that  your  work  deprives  you  of  the  society 
of  people  of  your  class.  Now  my  ideal  is  a  set  of  Negro 
schools  where  the  white  teachers  could  know  the  Cress- 
wells." 

"Why,     yes  —  "     faltered     Miss     Taylor;     "  but  - 
would  n't  that  be  difficult?  " 

"Why  should  it  be?  " 

"  I  mean,  would  the  Cresswells  approve  of  educating 
Negroes?  " 

"  Oh,  '  educating  ' !  The  word  conceals  so  much.  Now, 
I  take  it  the  Cresswells  would  object  to  instructing  them 
in  French  and  in  dinner  etiquette  and  tea-gowns,  and  so, 
in  fact,  would  I ;  but  teach  them  how  to  handle  a  hoe  and 


60      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

to  sew  and  cook.  I  have  reason  to  know  that  people  like 
the  Cresswells  would  be  delighted." 

"  And  with  the  teachers  of  it  ?  " 

"Why  not?  —  provided,  of  course,  they  were  —  well, 
gentlefolk  and  associated  accordingly." 

"  But  one  must  associate  with  one's  pupils." 

"Oh,  certainly,  certainly;  just  as  one  must  associate 
with  one's  maids  and  chauffeurs  and  dressmakers  —  cor 
dially  and  kindly,  but  with  a  difference." 

"  But  —  but,  dear  Mrs.  Vanderpool,  you  would  n't 
want  your  children  trained  that  way,  would  you?  " 

"  Certainly  not,  my  dear.  But  these  are  not  my  chil 
dren,  they  are  the  children  of  Negroes;  we  can't  quite 
forget  that,  can  we  ?  " 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  Miss  Taylor  admitted,  a  little 
helplessly.  "  But  —  it  seems  to  me  —  that 's  the  modern 
idea  of  taking  culture  to  the  masses." 

"  Frankly,  then,  the  modern  idea  is  not  my  idea ;  it  is 
too  socialistic.  And  as  for  culture  applied  to  the  masses, 
you  utter  a  paradox.  The  masses  and  work  is  the  truth 
one  must  face." 

"And  culture  and  work?" 

"  Quite  incompatible,  I  assure  you,  my  dear."  She 
stretched  her  silken  limbs,  lazily,  while  Miss  Taylor  sat 
silently  staring  at  the  waters. 

Just  then  Mrs.  Grey  drove  up  in  her  new  red  motor. 

Up  to  the  time  of  Mary  Taylor's  arrival  the  acquaint 
ance  of  the  Vanderpools  and  Mrs.  Grey  had  been  a  matter 
chiefly  of  smiling  bows.  After  Miss  Taylor  came  there 
had  been  calls  and  casual  intercourse,  to  Mrs.  Grey's  great 
gratification  and  Mrs.  Vanderpool's  mingled  amusement 
and  annoyance.  Mrs.  Grey  announced  the  arrival  of  the 
Easterlys  and  John  Taylor  for  the  week-end.  As  Mrs. 


COTTON  61 

Vanderpool  could  think  of  nothing  less  boring,  she  con 
sented  to  dine. 

The  atmosphere  of  Mrs.  Grey's  ornate  cottage  was  dif 
ferent  from  that  of  the  Vanderpools.  The  display  of 
wealth  and  splendor  had  a  touch  of  the  barbaric.  Mary 
Taylor  liked  it,  although  she  found  the  Vanderpool  at 
mosphere  more  subtly  satisfying.  There  was  a  certain 
grim  power  beneath  the  Greys'  mahogany  and  velvets  that 
thrilled  while  it  appalled.  Precisely  that  side  of  the  thing 
appealed  to  her  brother.  He  would  have  seen  little  or 
nothing  in  the  plain  elegance  yonder,  while  here  he  saw  a 
Japanese  vase  that  cost  no  cent  less  than  a  thousand  dol 
lars.  He  meant  to  be  able  to  duplicate  it  some  day.  He 
knew  that  Grey  was  poor  and  less  knowing  than  he  sixty 
years  ago. 

The  dead  millionaire  had  begun  his  fortune  by  buying 
and  selling  cotton  —  travelling  in  the  South  in  recon 
struction  times,  and  sending  his  agents.  In  this  way  he 
made  his  thousands.  Then  he  took  a  step  forward,  and 
instead  of  following  the  prices  induced  the  prices  to  fol 
low  him.  Two  or  three  small  cotton  corners  brought  him 
his  tens  of  thousands.  About  this  time  Easterly  joined 
him  and  pointed  out  a  new  road  —  the  buying  and  selling 
of  stock  in  various  cotton-mills  and  other  industrial  en 
terprises.  Grey  hesitated,  but  Easterly  pushed  him  on 
and  he  made  his  hundreds  of  thousands.  Then  Easterly 
proposed  buying  controlling  interests  in  certain  large 
mills  and  gradually  consolidating  them.  The  plan  grew 
and  succeeded,  and  Grey  made  his  millions. 

Then  Grey  stopped;  he  had  money  enough,  and  he 
would  venture  no  farther.  He  "  was  going  to  retire  and 
eat  peanuts,"  he  said  with  a  chuckle. 

Easterly  was  disgusted.     He,  too,  had  made  millions  — 


62   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

not  as  many  as  Grey,  but  a  few.  It  was  not,  however, 
simply  money  that  he  wanted,  but  power.  The  lust  of 
financial  dominion  had  gripped  his  soul,  and  he  had  a 
vision  of  a  vast  trust  of  cotton  manufacturing  covering 
the  land.  He  talked  this  incessantly  into  Grey,  but  Grey 
continued  to  shake  his  head ;  the  thing  was  too  big  for  his 
imagination.  He  was  bent  on  retiring,  and  just  as  he 
had  set  the  date  a  year  hence  he  inadvertently  died.  On 
the  whole,  Mr.  Easterly  was  glad  of  his  partner's  definite 
withdrawal,  since  he  left  his  capital  behind  him,  until  he 
found  his  vast  plans  about  to  be  circumvented  by  Mrs. 
Grey  withdrawing  this  capital  from  his  control.  "  To 
give  it  to  niggers  and  Chinamen,"  he  snorted  to  John 
Taylor,  and  strode  up  and  down  the  veranda.  John 
Taylor  removed  his  coat,  lighted  a  black  cigar,  and  ele 
vated  his  heels.  The  ladies  were  in  the  parlor,  where  the 
female  Easterlys  were  prostrating  themselves  before  Mrs. 
Vanderpool. 

"  Just  what  is  your  plan  ?  "  asked  Taylor,  quite  as  if 
he  did  not  know. 

"  Why,  man,  the  transfer  of  a  hundred  millions  of 
stock  would  give  me  control  of  the  cotton-mills  of 
America.  Think  of  it !  —  the  biggest  trust  next  to  steel." 

"  Why  not  bigger?  "  asked  Taylor,  imperturbably  puf 
fing  away.  Mr.  Easterly  eyed  him.  He  had  regarded 
Taylor  hitherto  as  a  very  valuable  asset  to  the  business 
—  had  relied  on  his  knowledge  of  routine,  his  judgment 
and  his  honesty;  but  he  detected  to-night  a  new  tone  in 
his  clerk,  something  almost  authoritative  and  self-reliant. 
He  paused  and  smiled  at  him. 

"Bigger?" 

But  John  Taylor  was  dead  in  earnest.  He  did  not 
smile. 


COTTON  63 

"  First,  there  's  England  —  and  all  Europe ;  why  not 
bring  them  into  the  trust?  " 

"  Possibly,  later ;  but  first,  America.  Of  course,  I  've 
got  my  eyes  on  the  European  situation  and  feelers  out; 
but  such  matters  are  more  difficult  and  slower  of  adjust 
ment  over  there  —  so  damned  much  law  and  gospel." 

"  But  there  's  another  side." 

"What's  that?" 

"  You  are  planning  to  combine  and  control  the  manu 
facture  of  cotton  — ' 

"  Yes." 

"  But  how  about  your  raw  material?  The  steel  trust 
owns  its  iron  mines." 

"  Of  course  —  mines  could  be  monopolized  and  hold  the 
trust  up ;  but  our  raw  material  is  perfectly  safe  —  farms 
growing  smaller,  farms  isolated,  and  we  fixing  the  price. 
It 's  a  cinch." 

"  Are  you  sure?"  Taylor  surveyed  him  with  a  nar 
rowed  look. 

"  Certain." 

"  I'  m  not.  I  've  been  looking  up  things,  and  there  are 
three  points  you  'd  better  study :  First,  cotton  farms  are 
not  getting  smaller;  they're  getting  bigger  almighty 
fast,  and  there 's  a  big  cotton-land  monopoly  in  sight. 
Second,  the  banks  and  wholesale  houses  in  the  South  can 
control  the  cotton  output  if  they  work  together.  Third, 
watch  the  Southern  '  Farmers'  League  '  of  big  landlords." 

Mr.  Easterly  threw  away  his  cigar  and  sat  down. 
Taylor  straightened  up,  switched  on  the  porch  light,  and 
took  a  Bundle  of  papers  from  his  coat  pocket. 

"Here  are  census  figures,"  he  said,  "commercial  re 
ports  and  letters."  They  pored  over  them  a  half  hour. 
Then  Easterly  arose. 


64  THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  There 's  something  in  it,"  he  admitted,  "  but  what 
can  we  do  ?  What  do  you  propose  ?  " 

"  Monopolize  the  growth  as  well  as  the  manufacture  of 
cotton,  and  use  the  first  to  club  European  manufacturers 
into  submission." 

Easterly  stared  at  him. 

"  Good  Lord!  "  he  ejaculated;  "  you  're  crazy  !  " 

But  Taylor  smiled  a  slow,  thin  smile,  and  put  away  his 
papers.  Easterly  continued  to  stare  at  his  subordinate 
with  a  sort  of  fascination,  with  the  awe  that  one  feels 
when  genius  unexpectedly  reveals  itself  from  a  source 
hitherto  regarded  as  entirely  ordinary.  At  last  he  drew  a 
long  breath,  remarking  indefinitely: 

"  I  '11  think  it  over." 

A  stir  in  the  parlor  indicated  departure. 

"  Well,  you  watch  the  Farmers'  League,  and  note  its 
success  and  methods,"  counselled  John  Taylor,  his  tone 
and  manner  unchanged.  "  Then  figure  what  it  might  do 
in  the  hands  of  —  let  us  say,  friends." 

"Who's  running  it?" 

"  A  Colonel  Cresswell  is  its  head,  and  happens  also  to 
be  the  force  behind  it.  Aristocratic  family  —  big  planter 
—  near  where  my  sister  teaches." 

"  H'm  —  well,  we  '11  watch  him." 

"  And  say,"  as  Easterly  was  turning  away,  "  you  know 
Congressman  Smith?  " 

"  I  should  say  I  did." 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Grey  seems  to  be  depending  on  him  for 
advice  in  distributing  some  of  her  charity  funds." 

Easterly  appeared  startled. 

"  She  is,  is  she !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  But  here  come  the 
ladies."  He  went  forward  at  once,  but  John  Taylor 
drew  back.  He  noted  Mrs.  Vanderpool,  and  thought  her 


COTTON  65 

too  thin  and  pale.  The  dashing  young  Miss  Easterly  was 
more  to  his  taste.  He  intended  to  have  a  wife  like  that 
one  of  these  days. 

"  Mary,"  said  he  to  his  sister  as  he  finally  rose  to  go, 
"  tell  me  about  the  Cress  wells." 

Mary  explained  to  him  at  length  the  impossibility  of 
her  knowing  much  about  the  local  white  aristocracy  of 
Tooms  County,  and  then  told  him  all  she  had  heard. 

"Mrs.  Grey  talked  to  you  much?" 

"  Yes." 

"About  darky  schools?" 

"  Yes." 

"What  does  she  intend  to  do?" 

"  I  think  she  will  aid  Miss  Smith  first." 

"  Did  you  suggest  anything?  " 

"  Well,  I  told  her  what  I  thought  about  cooperating 
with  the  local  white  people." 

"The  Cresswells?" 

"Yes  —  you  see  Mrs.  Vanderpool  knows  the  Cress- 
wells." 

"Does,  eh?  Good!  Say,  that's  a  good  point.  You 
just  bear  heavy  on  it  —  cooperate  with  the  Cresswells." 

"Why,  yes.  But  —  you  see,  John,  I  don't  just  know 
whether  one  could  cooperate  with  the  Cresswells  or  not  — 
one  hears  such  contradictory  stories  of  them.  But  there 
must  be  some  other  white  people  —  " 

"  Stuff !     It 's  the  Cresswells  we  want." 

"Well,"  Mary  was  very  dubious,  "they  are  —  the  most 
important." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  PLACE  OF  DREAMS 

WHEN  she  went  South  late  in  September,  Mary 
Taylor  had  two  definite  but  allied  objects:  she 
was  to  get  all  possible  business  information 
concerning  the  Cresswells,  and  she  was  to  induce  Miss 
Smith  to  prepare  for  Mrs.  Grey's  benevolence  by  inter 
esting  the  local  whites  in  her  work.  The  programme 
attracted  Miss  Taylor.  She  felt  in  touch,  even  if  dimly 
and  slightly,  with  great  industrial  movements,  and  she 
felt,  too,  like  a  discerning  pioneer  in  philanthropy.  Both 
roles  she  liked.  Besides,  they  held,  each,  certain  promises 
of  social  prestige,  and  society,  Miss  Taylor  argued,  one 
must  have  even  in  Alabama. 

Bles  Alwyn  met  her  at  the  train.  He  was  growing 
to  be  a  big  fine  bronze  giant,  and  Mary  was  glad  to 
see  him.  She  especially  tried,  in  the  first  few  weeks  of 
opening  school,  to  glean  as  much  information  as  possible 
concerning  the  community,  and  particularly  the  Cress- 
wells.  She  found  the  Negro  youth  quicker,  surer,  and 
more  intelligent  in  his  answers  than  those  she  questioned 
elsewhere,  and  she  gained  real  enjoyment  from  her  long 
talks  with  him. 

"Isn't  Bles  developing  splendidly?"  she  said  to  Miss 
Smith  one  afternoon.  There  was  an  unmistakable  note 

[66] 


THE  PLACE  OF  DREAMS  67 

of  enthusiasm  in  her  voice.  Miss  Smith  slowly  closed 
her  letter-file  but  did  not  look  up. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  crisply.  "  He  's  eighteen  now  —  quite 
a  man." 

"  And  most  interesting  to  talk  with." 

"  H'm  —  very  "  —  drily.  Mary  was  busy  with  her 
own  thoughts,  and  she  did  not  notice  the  other  woman's 
manner. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  pursued,  "  I  'm  a  little  afraid 
of  one  thing." 

"  So  am  I." 

"  Oh,  you  've  noted  it,  too  ?  —  his  friendship  for  that 
impossible  girl,  Zora?  " 

Miss  Smith  gave  her  a  searching  look. 

"What  of  it?"  she  demanded. 

"  She  is  so  far  beneath  him." 

"How   so?" 

"  She  is  a  bold,  godless  thing;  I  don't  understand  her." 

"  The  two  are  not  quite  the  same." 

"  Of  course  not ;  but  she  is  unnaturally  forward." 

"  Too  bright,"  Miss  Smith  amplified. 

"  Yes ;  she  knows  quite  too  much.  You  surely  remem 
ber  that  awful  scarlet  dress?  Well,  all  her  clothes  have 
arrived,  or  remained,  at  a  simplicity  and  vividness  that 
is  —  well  —  immodest." 

"  Does  she  think  them  immodest?  " 

"  What  she  thinks  is  a  problem." 

"  The  problem,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes." 

They  paused  a  moment.  Then  Miss  Smith  said  slowly : 
"  What  I  don't  understand,  I  don't  judge." 

"  No,  but  you  can't  always  help  seeing  and  meeting 
it,"  laughed  Miss  Taylor. 


68      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"Certainly  not.  I  don't  try;  I  court  the  meeting  and 
seeing.  It  is  the  only  way." 

"  Well,  perhaps,  for  us  —  but  not  for  a  boy  like  Bles, 
and  a  girl  like  Zora." 

"True;  men  and  women  must  exercise  judgment  in 
their  intercourse  and "  —  she  glanced  sharply  at  Miss 
Taylor  —  "  my  dear,  you  yourself  must  not  forget  that 
Bles  Alwyn  is  a  man." 

Far  up  the  road  came  a  low,  long,  musical  shouting; 
then  with  creaking  and  straining  of  wagons,  four  great 
black  mules  dashed  into  sight  with  twelve  bursting  bales 
of  yellowish  cotton  looming  and  swaying  behind.  The 
drivers  and  helpers  were  lolling  and  laughing  and  sing 
ing,  but  Miss  Taylor  did  not  hear  nor  see.  She  had  sat 
suddenly  upright;  her  face  had  flamed  crimson,  and  then 
went  dead  white. 

"  Miss  —  Miss  Smith !  "  she  gasped,  overwhelmed  with 
dismay,  a  picture  of  wounded  pride  and  consternation. 

Miss  Smith  turned  around  very  methodically  and  took 
her  hand;  but  while  she  spoke  the  girl  merely  stared  at 
her  in  stony  silence. 

"Now,  dear,  don't  mean  more  than  I  do.  I'm  an 
old  woman,  and  I  've  seen  many  things.  This  is  but  a 
little  corner  of  the  world,  and  yet  many  people  pass  here 
in  thirty  years.  The  trouble  with  new  teachers  who  come 
is,  that  like  you,  they  cannot  see  black  folk  as  human. 
All  to  them  are  either  impossible  Zoras,  or  else  lovable 
Blessings.  They  forget  that  Zora  is  not  to  be  annihilated, 
but  studied  and  understood,  and  that  Bles  is  a  young 
man  of  eighteen  and  not  a  clod." 

"  But  that  he  should  dare  — "  Mary  began  breath 
lessly. 

"  He  has  n't  dared,"  Miss  Smith  went  gently  on.     "  No 


THE  PLACE  OF  DREAMS  69 

thought  of  you  but  as  a  teacher  has  yet  entered  his  dear, 
simple  head.  But,  my  point  is  simply  this :  he  's  a  man, 
and  a  human  one,  and  if  you  keep  on  making  much  over 
him,  and  talking  to  him  and  petting  him,  he  '11  have  the 
right  to  interpret  your  manner  in  his  own  way  —  the 
same  that  any  young  man  would." 

"  But  —  but,  he  's  a  —  a  —  " 

"  A  Negro.  To  be  sure,  he  is ;  and  a  man  in  addition. 
Now,  dear,  don't  take  this  too  much  to  heart;  this  is 
not  a  rebuke,  but  a  clumsy  warning.  I  am  simply  try 
ing  to  make  clear  to  you  why  you  should  be  careful. 
Treat  poor  Zora  a  little  more  lovingly,  and  Bles  a  little 
less  warmly.  They  are  just  human  —  but,  oh!  so 
human." 

Mary  Taylor  rose  up  stiffly  and  mumbled  a  brief 
good-night.  She  went  to  her  room,  and  sat  down  in  the 
dark.  The  mere  mention  of  the  thing  was  to  her  so 
preposterous  —  no,  loathsome,  she  kept  repeating. 

She  slowly  undressed  in  the  dark,  and  heard  the  rum 
bling  of  the  cotton  wagons  as  they  swayed  toward  town. 
The  cry  of  the  Naked  was  sweeping  the  world,  and  yon 
der  in  the  night  black  men  were  answering  the  call.  They 
knew  not  what  or  why  they  answered,  but  obeyed  the 
irresistible  call,  with  hearts  light  and  song  upon  their 
lips  —  the  Song  of  Service.  They  lashed  their  mules 
and  drank  their  whiskey,  and  all  night  the  piled  fleece 
swept  by  Mary  Taylor's  window,  flying  —  flying  to  that 
far  cry.  Miss  Taylor  turned  uneasily  in  her  bed  and 
jerked  the  bed-clothes  about  her  ears. 

"  Mrs.  Variderpool  is  right,"  she  confided  to  the  night, 
with  something  of  the  awe  with  which  one  suddenly  com 
prehends  a  hidden  oracle ;  "  there  must  be  a  difference, 
always,  always !  That  impudent  Negro  !  " 


70       THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

All  night  she  dreamed,  and  all  day,  —  especially  when 
trim  and  immaculate  she  sat  in  her  chair  and  looked  down 
upon  fifty  dark  faces  —  and  upon  Zora. 

Zora  sat  thinking.  She  saw  neither  Miss  Taylor  nor 
the  long  straight  rows  of  desks  and  faces.  She  heard 
neither  the  drone  of  the  spellers  nor  did  she  hear  Miss 
Taylor  say,  "Zora!"  She  heard  and  saw  none  of 
this.  She  only  heard  the  prattle  of  the  birds  in  the 
wood,  far  down  where  the  Silver  Fleece  would  be  planted. 

For  the  time  of  cotton-planting  was  coming;  the  gray 
and  drizzle  of  December  was  past  and  the  hesitation  of 
January.  Already  a  certain  warmth  and  glow  had  stolen 
into  the  air,  and  the  Swamp  was  calling  its  child  with 
low,  seductive  voice.  She  knew  where  the  first  leaves  were 
bursting,  where  tiny  flowers  nestled,  and  where  young 
living  things  looked  upward  to  the  light  and  cried  and 
crawled.  A  wistful  longing  was  stealing  into  her  heart. 
She  wanted  to  be  free.  She  wanted  to  run  and  dance 
and  sing,  but  Bles  wanted  — 

"Zora!" 

This  time  she  heard  the  call,  but  did  not  heed  it. 
Miss  Taylor  was  very  tiresome,  and  was  forever  doing 
and  saying  silly  things.  So  Zora  paid  no  attention,  but 
sat  still  and  thought.  Yes,  she  would  show  Bles  the  place 
that  very  night;  she  had  kept  it  secret  from  him  until 
now,  out  of  perverseness,  out  of  her  love  of  mystery 
and  secrets.  But  to-night,  after  school,  when  he  met 
her  on  the  big  road  with  the  clothes,  she  would  take  him 
and  show  him  the  chosen  spot. 

Soon  she  was  aware  that  school  had  been  dismissed, 
and  she  leisurely  gathered  up  her  books  and  rose.  Mary 
Taylor  regarded  her  in  perplexed  despair.  Oh,  these 
people!  Mrs.  Vanderpool  was  right:  culture  and  —  some 


THE  PLACE  OF  DREAMS  71 

masses,  at  least  —  were  not  to  be  linked ;  and,  too,  cul 
ture  and  work  —  were  they  incompatible?  At  any  rate, 
culture  and  this  work  were. 

Now,  there  was  Mrs.  Vanderpool  —  she  toiled  not, 
neither  did  she  spin,  and  yet!  If  all  these  folk  were 
like  poor,  stupid,  docile  Jennie  it  would  be  simpler,  but 
what  earthly  sense  was  there  in  trying  to  do  anything 
with  a  girl  like  Zora,  so  stupid  in  some  matters,  so  start- 
lingly  bright  in  others,  and  so  stubborn  in  everything? 
Here,  she  was  doing  some  work  twice  as  well  and  twice 
as  fast  as  the  class,  and  other  work  she  would  not  touch 
because  she  "  did  n't  like  it."  Her  classification  in  school 
was  nearly  as  difficult  as  her  classification  in  the  world, 
and  Miss  Taylor  reached  up  impatiently  and  removed 
the  gold  pin  from  her  stock  to  adjust  it  more  comfortably 
when  Zora  sauntered  past  unseeing,  unheeding,  with  that 
curious  gliding  walk  which  Miss  Taylor  called  stealthy. 
She  laid  the  pin  on  the  desk  and  on  sudden  impulse  spoke 
again  to  the  girl  as  she  arranged  her  neck  trimmings. 

"  Zora,"  she  said  evenly,  "  why  did  n't  you  come  to 
class  when  I  called?  " 

"I  didn't  hear  you,"  said  Zora,  looking  at  her  full- 
eyed  and  telling  the  half-truth  easily. 

Miss  Taylor  was  sure  Zora  was  lying,  and  she  knew 
that  she  had  lied  to  her  on  other  occasions.  Indeed,  she 
had  found  lying  customary  in  this  community,  and  she 
had  a  New  England  horror  of  it. .  She  looked  at  Zora 
disapprovingly,  while  Zora  looked  at  her  quite  imperson 
ally,  but  steadily.  Then  Miss  Taylor  braced  herself, 
mentally,  and  took  the  war  into  Africa. 

"  Do  you  ever  tell  lies,  Zora?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Don't  you  know  that  is  a  wicked,  bad  habit  ?  " 


72      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"Why?" 

"  Because  God  hates  them." 

"  How  does  you  know  He  does  ?  "  Zora's  tone  was  still 
impersonal. 

"  He  hates  all  evil." 

"But  why  is  lies  evil?" 

"  Because  they  make  us  deceive  each  other." 

"Is  that  wrong?" 

"  Yes." 

Zora  bent  forward  and  looked  squarely  into  Miss 
Taylor's  blue  eyes.  Miss  Taylor  looked  into  the  velvet 
blackness  of  hers  and  wondered  what  they  veiled. 

"  Is  it  wrong,"  asked  Zora,  "  to  make  believe  you  likes 
people  when  you  don't,  when  you'se  afeared  of  them  and 
thinks  they  may  rub  off  and  dirty  you?  " 

"  Why  —  why  —  yes,   if   you  —  if  you,   deceive." 

"Then  you  lies  sometimes,  don't  you?" 

Miss  Taylor  stared  helplessly  at  the  solemn  eyes  that 
seemed  to  look  so  deeply  into  her. 

"Perhaps  —  I  do,  Zora;  I'm  sure  I  don't  mean  to, 
and  —  I  hope  God  will  forgive  me." 

Zora  softened. 

"  Oh,  I  reckon  He  will  if  He  's  a  good  God,  because 
He  'd  know  that  lies  like  that  are  heaps  better  than  blab 
bing  the  truth  right  out.  Only,"  she  added  severely, 
"  you  mus  n't  keep  saying  it 's  wicked  to  lie,  'cause  it 
ain't.  Sometimes  I  lies,"  she  reflected  pensively,  "  and 
sometimes  I  don't  —  it  depends." 

Miss  Taylor  forgot  her  collar,  and  fingered  the  pin 
on  the  desk.  She  felt  at  once  a  desperate  desire  to  know 
this  girl  better  and  to  establish  her  own  authority.  Yet 
how  should  she  do  it?  She  kept  toying  with  the  pin,  and 
Zora  watched  her.  Then  Miss  Taylor  said,  absently: 


THE  PLACE  OF  DREAMS  73 

"Zora,  what  do  you  propose  to  do  when  you  grow 
up?" 

Zora  considered. 

"  Think  and  walk  —  and  rest,"  she  concluded. 

"I  mean,  what  work?" 

"Work?     Oh,  I  sha'n't  work.     I  don't  like  work  - 
do  you  ?  " 

Miss  Taylor  winced,  wondering  if  the  girl  were  lying 
again.  She  said  quickly: 

"  Why,  yes  —  that  is,  I  like  some  kinds  of  work." 

"What  kinds?" 

But  Miss  Taylor  refused  to  have  the  matter  made 
personal,  as  Zora  had  a  disconcerting  way  of  pointing 
all  their  discussions. 

"  Everybody  likes  some  kinds  of  work,"  she  insisted. 

"  If  you  likes  it,  it  ain't  work,"  declared  Zora ;  but 
Mary  Taylor  proceeded  around  her  circumscribed  circle: 

"  You  might  make  a  good  cook,  or  a  maid." 

"I  hate   cooking.      What's   a  maid?" 

"  Why,  a  woman  who  helps  others." 

"Helps  folks  that  they  love?     I'd  like  that." 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  affection,"  said  Miss  Taylor, 
firmly ;  "  one  is  paid  for  it." 

"  I  would  n't  work  for  pay." 

"  But  you  '11  have  to,  child ;  you  '11  have  to  earn  a 
living." 

"  Do  you  work  for  pay  ?  " 

"  I  work  to  earn  a  living." 

"  Same  thing,  I  reckon,  and  it  ain't  true.  Living  just 
comes  free,  like  —  like  sunshine." 

"  Stuff !  Zora,  your  people  must  learn  to  work  and 
work  steadily  and  work  hard  -  -  "  She  stopped,  for  she 
was  sure  Zora  was  not  listening ;  the  far  away  look  was  in 


74      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

her  eyes  and  they  were  shining.  She  was  beautiful  as 
she  stood  there  —  strangely,  almost  uncannily,  but  start- 
lingly  beautiful  with  her  rich  dark  skin,  softly  moulded 
features,  and  wonderful  eyes. 

"My  people?  —  my  people?"  she  murmured,  half  to 
herself.  "  Do  you  know  my  people  ?  They  do  n't  never 
work;  they  plays.  They  is  all  little,  funny  dark  people. 
They  flies  and  creeps  and  crawls,  slippery-like ;  and  they 
cries  and  calls.  Ah,  my  people !  my  poor  little  people ! 
they  misses  me  these  days,  because  they  is  shadowy  things 
that  sing  and  smell  and  bloom  in  dark  and  terrible 
nights  —  " 

Miss  Taylor  started  up.  "  Zora,  I  believe  you're 
crazy !  "  she  cried.  But  Zora  was  looking  at  her  calmly 
again. 

"  We'se  both  crazy,  ain't  we?"  she  returned,  with  a 
simplicity  that  left  the  teacher  helpless. 

Miss  Taylor  hurried  out,  forgetting  her  pin.  Zora 
looked  it  over  leisurely,  and  tried  it  on.  She  decided 
that  she  liked  it,  and  putting  it  in  her  pocket,  went  out 
too. 

School  was  out  but  the  sun  was  still  high,  as  Bles  hur 
ried  from  the  barn  up  the  big  road  beside  the  soft 
shadows  of  the  swamp.  His  head  was  busy  with  new 
thoughts  and  his  lips  were  whistling  merrily,  for  to-day 
Zora  was  to  show  him  the  long  dreamed  of  spot  for  the 
planting  of  the  Silver  Fleece.  He  hastened  toward  tho 
Cresswell  mansion,  and  glanced  anxiously  up  the  road. 
At  last  he  saw  her  coming,  swinging  down  the  road, 
lithe  and  dark,  with  the  big  white  basket  of  clothes  poised 
on  her  head. 

"  Zora,"  he  yodled,  and  she  waved  her  apron. 

He  eased  her  burden  to  the  ground  and  they  sat  down 


THE  PLACE  OF  DREAMS  75 

together,  he  nervous  and  eager;  she  silent,  passive, 
but  her  eyes  restless.  Bles  was  full  of  his  plans. 

"  Zora,"  he  said,  "  we  '11  make  it  the  finest  bale  ever 
raised  in  Tooms;  we'll  just  work  it  to  the  inch  —  just 
love  it  into  life." 

She  considered  the  matter  intently. 

"  But,"  —  presently,  —  "  how  can  we  sell  it  without  the 
Cresswells  knowing?  " 

"We  won't  try;  we'll  just  take  it  to  them  and  give 
them  half,  like  the  other  tenants." 

"  But  the  swamp  is  mortal  thick  and  hard  to  clear." 

"  We  can  do  it." 

Zora  had  sat  still,  listening;  but  now,  suddenly,  she 
leapt  to  her  feet. 

"  Corne,"  she  said,  "  I  '11  take  the  clothes  home,  then 
we  '11  go  "  —  she  glanced  at  him  —  "  down  where  the 
dreams  are."  And  laughing,  they  hurried  on. 

Elspeth  stood  in  the  path  that  wound  down  to  the 
cottage,  and  without  a  word  Zora  dropped  the  basket 
at  her  feet.  She  turned  back;  but  Bles,  struck  by  a 
thought,  paused.  The  old  woman  was  short,  broad, 
black  and  wrinkled,  with  yellow  fangs,  red  hanging  lips, 
and  wicked  eyes.  She  leered  at  them;  the  boy  shrank 
before  it,  but  stood  his  ground. 

"  Aunt  Elspeth,"  he  began,  "  Zora  and  I  are  going 
to  plant  and  tend  some  cotton  to  pay  for  her  schooling 

—  just  the  very  best  cotton  we  can  find  —  and  I  heard  " 

—  he    hesitated,  —  "I    heard    you    had    some    wonderful 
seed." 

"  Yes,"  she  mumbled,  "  I'se  got  the  seed  —  I'se  got 
it  —  wonder  seed,  sowed  wid  the  three  spells  of  Obi  in 
the  old  land  ten  tousand  moons  ago.  But  you  could  n't 
plant  it,"  with  a  sudden  shrillness,  "  it  would  kill  you." 


76      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"But  — "  Bles  tried  to  object,  but  she  waved  him 
away. 

"  Git  the  ground  —  git  the  ground ;  dig  it  —  pet  it, 
and  we  '11  see  what  we  '11  see."  And  she  disappeared. 

Zora  was  not  sure  that  it  had  been  wise  to  tell  their 
secret. 

"  I  was  going  to  steal  the  seed,"  she  said.  "  I  knows 
where  it  is,  and  I  don't  fear  conjure." 

"  You  must  n't  steal,  Zora,"  said  Bles,  gravely. 

"Why?"  Zora  quickly  asked. 

But  before  he  answered,  they  both  forgot;  for  their 
faces  were  turned  toward  the  wonder  of  the  swamp.  The 
golden  sun  was  pouring  floods  of  glory  through  the  slim 
black  trees,  and  the  mystic  sombre  pools  caught  and 
tossed  back  the  glow  in  darker,  duller  crimson.  Long 
echoing  cries  leapt  to  and  fro ;  silent  footsteps  crept 
hither  and  yonder;  and  the  girl's  eyes  gleamed  with  a 
wild  new  joy. 

"The  dreams!"  she  cried.  "The  dreams!"  And 
leaping  ahead,  she  danced  along  the  shadowed  path.  He 
hastened  after  her,  but  she  flew  fast  and  faster;  he  fol 
lowed,  laughing,  calling,  pleading.  He  saw  her  twinkling 
limbs  a-dancing  as  once  he  saw  them  dance  in  a  halo  of 
firelight ;  but  now  the  fire  was  the  fire  of  the  world.  Her 
garments  twined  and  flew  in  shadowy  drapings  about  the 
perfect  moulding  of  her  young  and  dark  half-naked  figure. 
Her  heavy  hair  had  burst  its  fastenings  and  lay  in  stiff 
ened,  straggling  masses,  bending  reluctantly  to  the  breeze, 
like  curled  smoke;  while  all  about,  the  mad,  wild  singing 
rose  and  fell  and  trembled,  till  his  head  whirled.  He 
paused  uncertainly  at  a  parting  of  the  paths,  crying: 

"  Zora !  Zora !  "  as  for  some  lost  soul.  "  Zora !  Zora !  " 
echoed  the  cry,  faintly. 


THE  PLACE  OF  DREAMS  77 

Abruptly  the  music  fell;  there  came  a  long  slow-grow 
ing  silence;  and  then,  with  a  flutter,  she  was  beside  him 
again,  laughing  in  his  ears  and  crying  with  mocking 
voice : 

"Is  you  af eared,  honey?" 

He  saw  in  her  eyes  sweet  yearnings,  but  could  speak 
nothing.  He  could  only  clasp  her  hand  tightly,  and 
again  down  they  raced  through  the  wood. 

All  at  once  the  swamp  changed  and  chilled  to  a  dull 
grayness;  tall,  dull  trees  started  down  upon  the  murky 
waters ;  and  long  pendent  streamings  of  moss-like  tears 
dripped  from  tree  to  earth.  Slowly  and  warily  they 
threaded  their  way. 

"Are  you  sure  of  the  path,  Zora?  "  he  once  inquired 
anxiously. 

"  I  could  find  it  asleep,"  she  answered,  skipping  sure 
footed  onward.  He  continued  to  hold  her  hand  tightly, 
and  his  own  pace  never  slackened.  Around  them  the 
gray  and  death-like  wilderness  darkened.  They  felt  and 
saw  the  cold  white  mist  rising  slowly  from  the  ground, 
and  waters  growing  blacker  and  broader. 

At  last  they  came  to  what  seemed  the  end.  Silently 
and  dismally  the  half-dead  forest,  with  its  ghostly  moss, 
lowered  and  darkened,  and  the  black  waters  spread  into 
a  great  silent  lake  of  slimy  ooze.  The  dead  trunk 
of  a  fallen  tree  lay  straight  in  front,  torn  and  twisted, 
its  top  hidden  yonder  and  mingled  with  impenetrable 
undergrowth. 

"  Where  now,  Zora  ?  "  he  cried. 

In  a  moment  she  had  slipped  her  hand  away  and  was 
scrambling  upon  the  tree  trunk.  The  waters  yawned 
murkily  below. 

"  Careful !  careful ! "  he  warned,  struggling  after  her 


78  THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

until  she  disappeared  amid  the  leaves.  He  followed 
eagerly,  but  cautiously;  and  all  at  once  found  himself 
confronting  a  paradise. 

Before  them  lay  a  long  island,  opening  to  the  south, 
on  the  black  lake,  but  sheltered  north  and  east  by  the 
dense  undergrowth  of  the  black  swamp  and  the  rampart 
of  dead  and  living  trees.  The  soil  was  virgin  and  black, 
thickly  covered  over  with  a  tangle  of  bushes,  vines,  and 
smaller  growth  all  brilliant  with  early  leaves  and  wild 
flowers. 

"  A  pretty  tough  proposition  for  clearing  and  plough 
ing,"  said  Bles,  with  practised  eye.  But  Zora  eagerly 
surveyed  the  prospect. 

"  It 's  where  the  Dreams  lives,"  she  whispered. 

Meantime  Miss  Taylor  had  missed  her  brooch  and 
searched  for  it  in  vain.  In  the  midst  of  this  pursuit  the 
truth  occurred  to  her  —  Zora  had  stolen  it.  Negroes 
would  steal,  everybody  said.  Well,  she  must  and  would 
have  the  pin,  and  she  started  for  Elspeth's  cabin. 

On  the  way  she  met  the  old  woman  in  the  path,  but 
got  little  satisfaction.  Elspeth  merely  grunted  ungra 
ciously  while  eying  the  white  woman  with  suspicion. 

Mary  Taylor,  again  alone,  sat  down  at  a  turn  in 
the  path,  just  out  of  sight  of  the  house,  and  waited. 
Soon  she  saw,  with  a  certain  grim  satisfaction,  Zora  and 
Bles  emerging  from  the  swamp  engaged  in  earnest  con 
versation.  Here  was  an  opportunity  to  overwhelm  both 
with  an  unforgettable  reprimand.  She  rose  before  them 
like  a  spectral  vengeance. 

"  Zora,  I  want  my  pin." 

Bles  started  and  stared ;  but  Zora  eyed  her  calmly  with 
something  like  disdain. 

"What  pin?"  she  returned,  unmoved. 


THE  PLACE  OF  DREAMS  79 

"  Zora,  don't  deny  that  you  took  my  pin  from  the 
desk  this  afternoon,"  the  teacher  commanded  severely. 

"  I  did  n't  say  I  did  n't  take  no  pin." 

"  Persons  who  will  lie  and  steal  will  do  anything." 

"  Why  should  n't  people  do  anything  they  wants  to  ?  " 

"  And  you  knew  the  pin  was  mine." 

"  I  saw  you  a-wearing  of  it,"  admitted  Zora  easily. 

"  Then  you  have  stolen  it,  and  you  are  a  thief." 

Still  Zora  appeared  to  be  unimpressed  with  the  heinous- 
ness  of  her  fault. 

"Did  you   make  that  pin?"   she   asked. 

"  No,  but  it  is  mine." 

"Why  is  it  yours?" 

"  Because  it  was  given  to  me." 

"  But  you  don't  need  it ;  you  've  got  four  other  prettier 
ones  —  I  counted." 

"  That  makes  no  difference." 

rs, 

'  Yes  it  does  —  folks  ain't  got  no  right  to  things  they 
don't  need." 

"  That  makes  no  difference,  Zora,  and  you  know  it. 
The  pin  is  mine.  You  stole  it.  If  you  had  wanted  a  pin 
and  asked  me  I  might  have  given  you  —  " 

The  girl  blazed. 

"  I  don't  want  your  old  gifts,"  she  almost  hissed. 
"  You  don't  own  what  you  don't  need  and  can't  use. 
God  owns  it  and  I  'm  going  to  send  it  back  to  Him." 

With  a  swift  motion  she  whipped  the  pin  from  her 
pocket  and  raised  her  arm  to  hurl  it  into  the  swamp. 
Bles  caught  her  hand.  He  caught  it  lightly  and  smiled 
sorrowfully  into  her  eyes.  She  wavered  a  moment,  then 
the  answering  light  sprang  to  her  face.  Dropping  the 
brooch  into  his  hand,  she  wheeled  and  fled  toward  the 
cabin. 


80      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

Bles  handed  it  silently  to  Miss  Taylor.  Mary  Taylor 
was  beside  herself  with  impatient  anger  —  and  anger  in 
tensified  by  a  conviction  of  utter  helplessness  to  cope  with 
any  strained  or  unusual  situations  between  herself  and 
these  two. 

"  Alwyn,"  she  said  sharply,  "  I  shall  report  Zora  for 
stealing.  And  you  may  report  yourself  to  Miss  Smith 
to-night  for  disrespect  toward  a  teacher." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MR.  HARRY  CRESSWELL 

THE  Cresswells,  father  and  son,  were  at  breakfast. 
The  daughter  was  taking  her  coffee  and  rolls  up 
stairs  in  bed. 

"P'sh!  I  don't  like  it!"  declared  Harry  Cresswell, 
tossing  the  letter  back  to  his  father.  "  I  tell  you,  it  is 
a  damned  Yankee  trick." 

He  was  a  man  of  thirty-five,  smooth  and  white,  slight, 
well-bred  and  masterful.  His  father,  St.  John  Cresswell, 
was  sixty,  white-haired,  mustached  and  goateed ;  a  stately, 
kindly  old  man  with  a  temper  and  much  family  pride. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said,  his  air  half  preoccupied,  half 
unconcerned,  "  I  suppose  so  —  and  yet  "  —  he  read  the 
letter  again,  aloud :  "  '  Approaching  you  as  one  of  the 
most  influential  landowners  of  Alabama,  on  a  confidential 
matter  9  —  h'm  —  h'm  —  *  a  combination  of  capital  and 
power,  such  as  this  nation  has  never  seen  '  — 4  cotton 
manufacturers  and  cotton  growers.5  .  .  .  Well,  well ! 
Of  course,  I  suppose  there  's  nothing  in  it.  And  yet, 
Harry,  my  boy,  this  cotton-growing  business  is  get 
ting  in  a  pretty  tight  pinch.  Unless  relief  comes  somehow 
—  well,  we  '11  just  have  to  quit.  We  simply  can't  keep  the 
cost  of  cotton  down  to  a  remunerative  figure  with  niggers 
getting  scarcer  and  dearer.  Every  year  I  have  to  pinch 

[81] 


82      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

'em  closer  and  closer.  I  had  to  pay  Maxwell  two  hundred 
and  fifty  to  get  that  old  darky  and  his  boys  turned  over  to 
me,  and  one  of  the  young  ones  has  run  away  already." 

Harry  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"  We  must  drive  them  more.  You  're  too  easy,  father ; 
they  understand  that.  By  the  way,  what  did  that  letter 
say  about  a  'sister'?" 

"  Says  he  's  got  a  sister  over  at  the  nigger  school  whom 
perhaps  we  know.  I  suppose  he  thinks  we  dine  there 
occasionally."  The  old  man  chuckled.  "  That  reminds 
me,  Elspeth  is  sending  her  girl  there." 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  An  angry  gleam  shot  into  the 
younger  man's  eye. 

"  Yes.  She  announced  this  morning,  pert  as  you 
please,  that  she  could  n't  tote  clothes  any  more  —  she 
had  to  study." 

"  Damn  it !  This  thing  is  going  too  far.  We  can't 
keep  a  maid  or  a  plough-boy  on  the  place  because  of  this 
devilish  school.  It 's  going  to  ruin  the  whole  labor 
system.  We  've  been  too  mild  and  decent.  I  'm  going 
to  put  my  foot  down  right  here.  I  '11  make  Elspeth  take 
that  girl  out  of  school  if  I  have  to  horse-whip  her,  and 
I  '11  warn  the  school  against  further  interference  with 
our  tenants.  Here,  in  less  than  a  week,  go  two  plough- 
hands  —  and  now  this  girl." 

The  old  man  smiled. 

"  You  '11  hardly  miss  any  work  Zora  does,"  he  said. 

"  I  '11  make  her  work.  She  's  giving  herself  too  many 
damned  airs.  I  know  who  's  back  of  this  —  it 's  that 
nigger  we  saw  talking  to  the  white  woman  in  the  field  the 
other  day." 

"  Well,  don't  work  yourself  up.  The  wench  don't 
amount  to  much  anyhow.  By  the  way,  though,  if  you 


MR.  HARRY  CRESSWELL  83 

do  go  to  the  school  it  won't  hurt  to  see  this  Taylor's 
sister  and  size  the  family  up." 

"  Pshaw !  I  'm  going  to  give  the  Smith  woman  such 
a  scare  that  she  '11  keep  her  hands  off  our  niggers."  And 
Harry  Cresswell  rode  away. 

Mary  Taylor  had  charge  of  the  office  that  morning, 
while  Miss  Smith,  shut  up  in  her  bedroom,  went  labori 
ously  over  her  accounts.  Miss  Mary  suddenly  sat  up, 
threw  a  hasty  glance  into  the  glass  and  felt  the  back 
of  her  belt.  It  was  —  it  could  n't  be  —  surely,  it  was 
Mr.  Harry  Cresswell  riding  through  the  gateway  on  his 
beautiful  white  mare.  He  kicked  the  gate  open  rather 
viciously,  did  not  stop  to  close  it,  and  rode  straight  across 
the  lawn.  Miss  Taylor  noticed  his  riding  breeches  and 
leggings,  his  white  linen  and  white,  clean-cut,  high-bred 
face.  Such  apparitions  were  few  about  the  country 
lands.  She  felt  inclined  to  flutter,  but  gripped  herself. 

"  Good-morning,"  she  said,  a  little  stiffly. 

Mr.  Cresswell  halted  and  stared;  then  lifting  the  hat 
which  he  had  neglected  to  remove  in  crossing  the  hall, 
he  bowed  in  stately  grace.  Miss  Taylor  was  no  ordinary 
picture.  Her  brown  hair  was  almost  golden;  her  dark 
eyes  shone  blue;  her  skin  was  clear  and  healthy,  and  her 
white  dress  —  happy  coincidence !  —  had  been  laundered 
that  very  morning.  Her  half-suppressed  excitement  at 
the  sudden  duty  of  welcoming  the  great  aristocrat  of 
the  county,  gave  a  piquancy  to  her  prettiness. 

"  The  —  devil !  "  commented  Mr.  Harry  Cresswell  to 
himself.  But  to  Miss  Taylor: 

"  I  beg  pardon  —  er  —  Miss   Smith?  " 

"  No  —  I  'in  sorry.  Miss  Smith  is  engaged  this  morn 
ing.  I  am  Miss  Taylor." 

"  I  cannot  share  Miss  Taylor's  sorrow,"  returned  Mr. 


84      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

Cresswell  gravely,  "  for  I  believe  I  have  the  honor  of 
some  correspondence  with  Miss  Taylor's  brother."  Mr. 
Cresswell  searched  for  the  letter,  but  did  not  find  it. 

"  Oh !  Has  John  written  you  ?  "  She  beamed  suddenly. 
"  I  'm  so  glad.  It 's  more  than  he  's  done  for  me  this 
three-month.  I  beg  your  pardon  —  do  sit  down  —  I 
think  you  '11  find  this  one  easier.  Our  stock  of  chairs 
is  limited.'' 

It  was  delightful  to  have  a  casual  meeting  receive  this 
social  stamp ;  the  girl  was  all  at  once  transfigured  — •  ani 
mated,  glowing,  lovely;  all  of  which  did  not  escape  the 
caller's  appraising  inspection. 

"  There !  "  said  Mr.  Cresswell.  "  I  've  left  your  gate 
gaping." 

"  Oh,  don't  mind     .     .     .     I  hope  John 's  well?  " 

"  The  truth  is,"  confessed  Cresswell,  "  it  was  a  busi 
ness  matter  —  cotton,  you  know." 

"  John  is  nothing  but  cotton ;  I  tell  him  his  soul  is 
fibrous." 

"  He  mentioned  your  being  here  and  I  thought  I  'd 
drop  over  and  welcome  you  to  the  South." 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  Miss  Taylor,  reddening  with 
pleasure  despite  herself.  There  was  a  real  sincerity  in 
the  tone.  All  this  confirmed  so  many  convictions  of 
hers. 

"  Of  course,  you  know  how  it  is  in  the  South,"  Cress- 
well  pursued,  the  opening  having  been  so  easily  accom 
plished. 

"  I  understand  perfectly." 

"  My  sister  would  be  delighted  to  meet  you,  but  —  " 

"  Oh  I  realize  the  —  difficulties." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  n't  mind  riding  by  some  day  — 
it 's  embarrassing  to  suggest  this,  but,  you  know  —  " 


MR.  HARRY  CRESSWELL  85 

Mary  Taylor  was  perfectly  self-possessed. 

"  Mr.  Cresswell,"  she  said  seriously,  "  I  know  very 
well  that  it  would  n't  do  for  your  sister  to  call  here,  and 
I  sha'n't  mind  a  bit  coming  by  to  see  her  first.  I  don't 
believe  in  standing  on  stupid  ceremony." 

Cresswell  thanked  her  with  quiet  cordiality,  and  sug 
gested  that  when  he  was  driving  by  he  might  pick  her 
up  in  his  gig  some  morning.  Miss  Taylor  expressed  her 
pleasure  at  the  prospect.  Then  the  talk  wandered  to 
general  matters  —  the  rain,  the  trees,  the  people  round 
about,  and,  inevitably  —  the  Negro. 

"  Oh,  by  the  bye,"  said  Mr.  Cresswell,  frowning  and 
hesitating  over  the  recollection  of  his  errand's  purpose, 
"  there  was  one  matter  "  —  he  paused.  Miss  Taylor 
leant  forward,  all  interest.  "  I  hardly  know  that  I  ought 
to  mention  it,  but  your  school  —  " 

This  charming  young  lady  disarmed  his  truculent 
spirit,  and  the  usually  collected  and  determined  young  man 
was  at  a  loss  how  to  proceed.  The  girl,  however,  was 
obviously  impressed  and  pleased  by  his  evidence  of  in 
terest,  whatever  its  nature;  so  in  a  manner  vastly  dif 
ferent  from  the  one  he  had  intended  to  assume,  he 
continued  : 

"  There  is  a  way  in  which  we  may  be  of  service  to  you, 
and  that  is  by  enlightening  you  upon  points  concern 
ing  which  the  nature  of  your  position  —  both  as  teacher 
and  socially  —  must  keep  you  in  the  dark. 

"  For  instance,  all  these  Negroes  are,  as  you  know,  of 
wretchedly  low  morals ;  but  there  are  a  few  so  depraved 
that  it  would  be  suicidal  to  take  them  into  this  school. 
We  recognize  the  good  you  are  doing,  but  we  do  not  want 
it  more  than  offset  by  utter  lack  of  discrimination  in 
choosing  your  material." 


86  THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  Certainly  not  —  have  we  —  "  Miss  Mary  faltered. 
This  beginning  was  a  bit  ominous,  wholly  unexpected. 

"  There  is  a  girl,  Zora,  who  has  just  entered,  who  —  I 
must  speak  candidly  —  who  ought  not  to  be  here ;  I 
thought  it  but  right  to  let  you  know." 

"  Thank  you,  so  much.  I  '11  tell  Miss  Smith."  Mary 
Taylor  suddenly  felt  herself  a  judge  of  character.  "  I 
suspected  that  she  was  —  not  what  she  ought  to  be.  Be 
lieve  me,  we  appreciate  your  interest." 

A  few  more  words,  and  Mr.  Cress  well,  after  bending 
courteously  over  her  hand  with  a  deference  no  New  Eng- 
lander  had  ever  shown,  was  riding  away  on  his  white 
mare. 

For  a  while  Mary  Taylor  sat  very  quietly.  It  was 
like  a  breath  of  air  from  the  real  world,  this  hour's  chat 
with  a  well-bred  gentleman.  She  wondered  how  she  had 
done  her  part  —  had  she  been  too  eager  and  school-girl 
ish?  Had  she  met  this  stately  ceremony  with  enough 
breeding  to  show  that  she  too  was  somebody?  She 
pounced  upon  Miss  Smith  the  minute  that  lady  entered 
the  office. 

"Miss  Smith,  who  do  you  think  has  been  here?" 
she  burst  out  enthusiastically. 

"  I  saw  him  on  the  lawn."  There  was  a  suspicious 
lack  of  warmth  in  this  brief  affirmation. 

"  He  was  so  gracious  and  kindly,  and  he  knows  my 
brother.  And  oh,  Miss  Smith !  we  've  got  to  send  that 
Zora  right  away." 

"  Indeed  "  —  the  observation  was  not  even  interroga 
tory.  The  preceptress  of  the  struggling  school  for  Negro 
children  merely  evinced  patience  for  the  younger  woman's 
fervency. 

"  Yes ;  he  says  she  's  utterly  depraved." 


MR.  HARRY  CRESSWELL  87 

"Said  that,  did  he?"  Miss  Smith  watched  her  with 
tranquil  regard.  Miss  Taylor  paused. 

"  Of  course,  we  cannot  think  of  keeping  her." 

Miss  Smith  pursed  her  lips,  offering  her  first  expres 
sion  of  opinion. 

"  I  guess  we  '11  worry  along  with  her  a  little  while 
anyhow,"  she  said. 

The  girl  stared  at  Miss  Smith  in  honest,  if  unpardon 
able,  amazement. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  going  to  keep  in 
this  school  a  girl  who  not  only  lies  and  steals  but  is 
positively  —  immoral?  " 

Miss  Smith  smiled,  wholly  unmoved. 

"  No ;  but  I  mean  that  7  am  here  to  learn  from  those 
whose  ideas  of  right  do  not  agree  with  mine,  to  discover 
why  they  differ,  and  to  let  them  learn  of  me  —  so  far 
as  I  am  worthy." 

Mary  Taylor  was  not  unappreciative  of  Miss  Smith's 
stern  high-mindedness,  but  her  heart  hardened  at  this, 
to  her,  misdirected  zeal.  Echo  of  the  spirit  of  an  older 
day,  Miss  Smith  seemed,  to  her,  to  be  cramped  and  par 
alyzed  in  an  armor  of  prejudice  and  sectionalisms. 
Plain-speaking  was  the  only  course,  and  Mary,  if  a  little 
complacent  perhaps  in  her  frankness,  was  sincere  in  her 
purpose. 

"  I  think,  Miss  Smith,  you  are  making  a  very  grave 
mistake.  I  regard  Zora  as  a  very  undesirable  person 
from  every  point  of  view.  I  look  upon  Mr.  Cresswell's 
visit  to-day  as  almost  providential.  He  came  offering 
an  olive  branch  from  the  white  aristocracy  to  this  work ; 
to  bespeak  his  appreciation  and  safeguard  the  future. 
Moreover,"  and  Miss  Taylor's  voice  gathered  firmness 
despite  Miss  Smith's  inscrutable  eye,  "  moreover,  I  have 


88     [THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

reason  to  know  that  the  disposition  —  indeed,  the  plan 
—  in  certain  quarters  to  help  this  work  materially  de 
pends  very  largely  on  your  willingness  to  meet  the  ad 
vances  of  the  Southern  whites  half  way." 

She  paused  for  a  reply  or  a  question.  Receiving  neither, 
she  walked  with  dignity  up  the  stairs.  From  her  window 
she  could  see  Cresswell's  straight  shoulders,  as  he  rode 
toward  town,  and  beyond  him  a  black  speck  in  the  road. 
But  she  could  not  see  the  smile  on  Mr.  Cresswell's  lips, 
nor  did  she  hear  him  remark  twice,  with  seeming  irrele 
vance,  "The  devil!" 

The  rider,  being  closer  to  it,  recognized  in  Mary 
Taylor's  "  black  speck  "  Bles  Alwyn  walking  toward  him 
rapidly  with  axe  and  hoe  on  shoulder,  whistling  merrily. 
They  saw  each  other  almost  at  the  same  moment  and 
whistle  and  smile  faded.  Mr.  Cresswell  knew  the  Negro 
by  sight  and  disliked  him.  He  belonged  in  his  mind  to 
that  younger  class  of  half-educated  blacks  who  were  im 
pudent  and  disrespectful  toward  their  superiors,  not 
even  touching  his  hat  when  he  met  a  white  man.  More 
over,  he  was  sure  that  it  was  Miss  Taylor  with  whom  this 
boy  had  been  talking  so  long  and  familiarly  in  the  cotton- 
field  last  Spring  —  an  offence  doubly  heinous  now  that 
he  had  seen  Miss  Taylor. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  halt  the  Negro  then  and  there 
and  tell  him  a  few  plain  truths.  But  he  did  not  feel 
quarrelsome  at  the  moment,  and  there  was,  after  all, 
nothing  very  tangible  to  justify  a  berating.  The  fel 
low's  impudence  was  sure  to  increase,  and  then!  So  he 
merely  reined  his  horse  to  the  better  part  of  the  foot 
path  and  rode  on. 

Bles,  too,  was  thinking.  He  knew  the  well-dressed 
man  with  his  milk-white  face  and  overbearing  way.  He 


MR.  HARRY  CRESSWELL  89 

would  expect  to  be  greeted  with  raised  hat  but  Bles  bit 
his  lips  and  pulled  down  his  cap  firmly.  The  axe,  too, 
in  some  indistinct  way  felt  good  in  his  hand.  He  saw 
the  horse  coming  in  his  pathway  and  stepping  aside  in 
the  dust  continued  on  his  way,  neither  looking  nor 
speaking. 

So  they  passed  each  other  by,  Mr.  Cresswell  to  town, 
Bles  to  the  swamp,  apparently  ignorant  of  each  other's 
very  existence.  Yet,  as  the  space  widened  between  them, 
each  felt  a  more  vindictive  anger  for  the  other. 

How  dares  the  black  puppy  to  ignore  a  Cresswell  on 
the  highway?  If  this  went  on,  the  day  would  surely  come 
when  Negroes  felt  no  respect  or  fear  whatever  for  whites  ? 
And  then  —  my  God !  Mr.  Cresswell  struck  his  mare  a 
vicious  blow  and  dashed  toward  town. 

The  black  boy,  too,  went  his  way  in  silent,  burning 
rage.  Why  should  he  be  elbowed  into  the  roadside  dust 
by  an  insolent  bully?  Why  had  he  not  stood  his  ground? 
Pshaw!  All  this  fine  frenzy  was  useless,  and  he  knew 
it.  The  sweat  oozed  on  his  forehead.  It  was  n't  man 
against  man,  or  he  would  have  dragged  the  pale  puppy 
from  his  horse  and  rubbed  his  face  in  the  earth.  It 
was  n't  even  one  against  many,  else  how  willingly,  swing 
ing  his  axe,  he  would  have  stood  his  ground  before  a 
mob. 

No,  it  was  one  against  a  world,  a  world  of  power,  opin 
ion,  wealth,  opportunity ;  and  he,  the  one,  must  cringe  and 
bear  in  silence  lest  the  world  crash  about  the  ears  of 
his  people.  He  slowly  plodded  on  in  bitter  silence  to 
ward  the  swamp.  But  the  day  was  balmy,  the  way  was 
beautiful;  contempt  slowly  succeeded  anger,  and  hope 
soon  triumphed  over  all.  For  yonder  was  Zora,  poised, 
waiting.  And  behind  her  lay  the  Field  of  Dreams. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  PLANTING 

ZORA  looked  down  upon  Bles,  where  he  stood  to 
his  knees  in  mud.  The  toil  was  beyond  exhilara 
tion  —  it  was  sickening  weariness  and  panting 
despair.  The  great  roots,  twined  in  one  unbroken  snarl, 
clung  frantically  to  the  black  soil.  The  vines  and  bushes 
fought  back  with  thorn  and  bramble.  Zora  stood  wiping 
the  blood  from  her  hands  and  staring  at  Bles.  She  saw 
the  long  gnarled  fingers  of  the  tough  little  trees  and 
they  looked  like  the  fingers  of  Elspeth  down  there  be 
neath  the  earth  pulling  against  the  boy.  Slowly  Zora 
forgot  her  blood  and  pain.  Who  would  win  —  the  witch, 
or  Jason? 

Bles  looked  up  and  saw  the  bleeding  hands.  With  a 
bound  he  was  beside  her. 

"  Zora !  "  The  cry  seemed  wrung  from  his  heart  by 
contrition.  Why  had  he  not  known  —  not  seen  before ! 
"  Zora,  come  right  out  of  this !  Sit  down  here  and  rest." 

She  looked  at  him  unwaveringly;  there  was  no  flinch 
ing  of  her  spirit. 

"  I  sha'n't  do  it,"  she  said.  "  You  'se  working,  and  I'se 
going  to  work." 

"  But  —  Zora  —  you  're  not  used  to  such  work,  and  I 
am.  You  're  tired  out." 

[90] 


THE  PLANTING  91 

"  So   is   you,"  was   her   reply. 

He  looked  himself  over  ruefully,  and  dropping  his  axe, 
sat  down  beside  her  on  a  great  log.  Silently  they  con 
templated  the  land;  it  seemed  indeed  a  hopeless  task. 
Then  they  looked  at  each  other  in  sudden,  unspoken  fear 
of  failure. 

"  If  we  only  had  a  mule !  "  he  sighed.  Immediately 
her  face  lighted  and  her  lips  parted,  but  she  said  nothing. 
He  presently  bounded  to  his  feet. 

"  Never  mind,  Zora.  To-morrow  is  Saturday,  and  I  '11 
work  all  day.  We  just  will  get  it  done  —  sometime." 
His  mouth  closed  with  determination. 

"  We  won't  work  any  more  to-day,  then?  "  cried  Zora, 
her  eagerness  betraying  itself  despite  her  efforts  to  hide 
it. 

"  You  won't,"  affirmed  Bles.  "  But  I  've  got  to  do  just 
a  little  —  " 

But  Zora  was  adamant:  he  was  tired;  she  was  tired; 
they  would  rest.  To-morrow  with  the  rising  sun  they 
would  begin  again. 

"  There  '11  be  a  bright  moon  to-night,"  ventured  Bles. 

"  Then  I  '11  come  too,"  Zora  announced  positively,  and 
he  had  to  promise  for  her  sake  to  rest. 

They  went  up  the  path  together  and  parted  diffidently, 
he  watching  her  flit  away  with  sorrowful  eyes,  a  little 
disturbed  and  puzzled  at  the  burden  he  had  voluntarily 
assumed,  but  never  dreaming  of  drawing  back. 

Zora  did  not  go  far.  No  sooner  did  she  know  herself 
well  out  of  his  sight  than  she  dropped  lightly  down  beside 
the  path,  listening  intently  until  the  last  echo  of  his 
footsteps  had  died  away.  Then,  leaving  the  cabin  on  her 
right,  and  the  scene  of  their  toil  on  her  left,  she  cut 
straight  through  the  swamp,  skirted  the  big  road,  and 


92      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

in  a  half-hour  was  in  the  lower  meadows  of  the  Cress- 
well  plantations,  where  the  tired  stock  was  being  turned 
out  to  graze  for  the  night.  Here,  in  the  shadow  of  the 
wood,  she  lingered.  Slowly,  but  with  infinite  patience, 
she  broke  one  strand  after  another  of  the  barbed-wire 
fencing,  watching,  the  while,  the  sun  grow  great  and 
crimson,  and  die  at  last  in  mighty  splendor  behind  the 
dimmer  westward  forests. 

The  voices  of  the  hands  and  hostlers  grew  fainter  and 
thinner  in  the  distance  of  purple  twilight  until  the  last 
of  them  disappeared.  Silence  fell,  deep  and  soft;  the 
silence  of  a  day  sinking  to  sleep.  Not  until  then  did 
Zora  steal  forth  from  her  hiding-place. 

She  had  chosen  her  mule  long  before  —  a  big,  black 
beast,  snorting  over  his  pile  of  corn, —  and  gliding  up 
to  him,  she  gathered  his  supper  into  her  skirt,  found  a 
stout  halter,  and  fed  him  sparingly  as  he  followed  her. 
Quickly  she  unfastened  the  pieces  of  the  fence,  led  the 
animal  through,  and  spliced  them  again ;  and  then,  with 
fox-like  caution,  she  guided  her  prize  through  the  laby 
rinthine  windings  of  the  swamp.  It  was  dark  and  haunt 
ing,  and  ever  and  again  rose  lonely  night  cries.  The 
girl  trembled  a  little,  but  plodded  resolutely  on  until 
the  dim  silver  disk  of  the  half-moon  began  to  glimmer 
through  the  trees.  Then  she  pressed  on  more  swiftly,  and 
fed  more  scantily,  until  finally,  with  the  moonlight  pour 
ing  over  them  at  the  black  lagoon,  Zora  attempted  to 
drive  the  animal  into  the  still  waters;  but  he  gave  a 
loud  protesting  snort  and  balked.  By  subtle  temptings 
she  gave  him  to  understand  that  plenty  lay  beyond  the 
dark  waters,  and  quickly  swinging  herself  to  his  back  she 
started  to  ride  him  up  and  down  along  the  edge  of  the 
lagoon,  petting  and  whispering  to  him  of  good  things 


THE  PLANTING  93 

beyond.  Slowly  her  eyes  grew  wide;  she  seemed  to  be 
riding  out  of  dreamland  on  some  hobgoblin  beast. 

Deeper  and  deeper  they  penetrated  into  the  dark 
waters.  Now  they  entered  the  slime;  now  they  stumbled 
on  hidden  roots ;  but  deeper  and  deeper  they  waded  until 
at  last,  turning  the  animal's  head  with  a  jerk,  and  giv 
ing  him  a  sharp  stroke  of  the  whip,  she  headed  straight 
for  the  island.  A  moment  the  beast  snorted  and  plunged ; 
higher  and  higher  the  black  still  waters  rose  round  the 
girl.  They  crept  up  her  little  limbs,  swirled  round  her 
breasts  and  gleamed  green  and  slimy  along  her  shoulders. 
A  wild  terror  gripped  her.  Maybe  she  was  riding  the 
devil's  horse,  and  these  were  the  yawning  gates  of  hell, 
black  and  sombre  beneath  the  cold,  dead  radiance  of  the 
moon.  She  saw  again  the  gnarled  and  black  and  claw- 
like  fingers  of  Elspeth  gripping  and  dragging  her  down. 

A  scream  struggled  in  her  breast,  her  fingers  relaxed, 
and  the  big  beast,  stretching  his  cramped  neck,  rose  in 
one  mighty  plunge  and  planted  his  feet  on  the  sand  of 
the  island. 

Bles,  hurrying  down  in  the  morning  with  new  tools 
and  new  determination,  stopped  and  stared  in  blank 
amazement.  Zora  was  perched  in  a  tree  singing  softly 
and  beneath  a  fat  black  mule  was  finishing  his  breakfast. 

"  Zora  —  "  he  gasped,  "  how  —  how  did  you  do  it?  " 

She  only  smiled  and  sang  a  happier  measure,  pausing 
only  to  whisper: 

"  Dreams  —  dreams  —  it 's  all  dreams  here,  I  tells 
you." 

Bles  frowned  and  stood  irresolute.  The  song  proceeded 
with  less  assurance,  slower  and  lower,  till  it  stopped,  and 
the  singer  dropped  to  the  ground,  watching  him  with 


94      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

wide  eyes.  He  looked  down  at  her,  slight,  tired, 
scratched,  but  undaunted,  striving  blindly  toward  the 
light  with  stanch,  unfaltering  faith.  A  pity  surged  in 
his  heart.  He  put  his  arm  about  her  shoulders  and 
murmured : 

"  You  poor,  brave  child." 

And  she  shivered  with  joy. 

All  day  Saturday  and  part  of  Sunday  they  worked 
feverishly.  The  trees  crashed  and  the  stumps  groaned 
and  crept  up  into  the  air,  the  brambles  blazed  and 
smoked;  little  frightened  animals  fled  for  shelter;  and 
a  wide  black  patch  of  rich  loam  broadened  and  broad 
ened  till  it  kissed,  on  every  side  but  the  sheltered  east, 
the  black  waters  of  the  lagoon.  Late  Sunday  night  the 
mule  again  swam  the  slimy  lagoon,  and  disappeared  to 
ward  the  Cresswell  fields.  Then  Bles  sat  down  beside 
Zora,  facing  the  fields,  and  gravely  took  her  hand.  She 
looked  at  him  in  quick,  breathless  fear. 

"  Zora,"  he  said,  "  sometimes  you  tell  lies,  don't  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  slowly ;  "  sometimes." 

"  And,  Zora,  sometimes  you  steal  —  you  stole  the  pin 
from  Miss  Taylor,  and  we  stole  Mr.  Cresswell's  mule  for 
two  days." 

"  Yes,"  she  said  faintly,  with  a  perplexed  wrinkle  in 
her  brows,  "  /  stole  it." 

"  Well,  Zora,  I  don't  want  you  ever  to  tell  another 
lie,  or  ever  to  take  anything  that  does  n't  belong  to  you." 

She  looked  at  him  silently  with  the  shadow  of  some 
thing  like  terror  far  back  in  the  depths  of  her  deep  eyes. 

"  Always  —  tell  —  the  truth?  "  she  repeated  slowly. 

"  Yes." 

Her  fingers  worked  nervously. 

"All  the  truth?"   she  asked. 


THE  PLANTING  95 

He  thought  a  while. 

"  No,"  said  he  finally,  "  it  is  not  necessary  always  to 
tell  all  the  truth ;  but  never  tell  anything  that  is  n't  the 
truth." 

"Never?" 

"  Never." 

"Even  if  it  hurts  me?" 

"  Even  if  it  hurts.  God  is  good,  He  will  not  let  it 
hurt  much." 

"  He  's  a  fair  God,  ain't  He?  "  she  mused,  scanning  the 
evening  sky. 

"  Yes  —  He  's  fair,  He  would  n't  take  advantage  of  a 
little  girl  that  did  wrong,  when  she  did  n't  know  it  was 
wrong." 

Her  face  lightened  and  she  held  his  hands  in  both  hers, 
and  said  solemnly  as  though  saying  a  prayer: 

"  I  won't  lie  any  more,  and  I  won't  steal  —  and  —  " 
she  looked  at  him  in  startled  wistfulness  —  he  remembered 
it  in  after  years;  but  he  felt  he  had  preached  enough. 

"And  now  for  the  seed!  "he  interrupted  joyously. 
"  And  then  —  the  Silver  Fleece !  " 

That  night,  for  the  first  time,  Bles  entered  Zora's 
home.  It  was  a  single  low,  black  room,  smoke-shadowed 
and  dirty,  with  two  dingy  beds  and  a  gaping  fire-place. 
On  one  side  of  the  fire-place  sat  the  yellow  woman,  young, 
with  traces  of  beauty,  holding  the  white  child  in  her  arms ; 
on  the  other,  hugging  the  blaze,  huddled  a  formless  heap, 
wreathed  in  coils  of  tobacco  smoke  —  Elspeth,  Zora's 
mother. 

Zora  said  nothing,  but  glided  in  and  stood  in  the 
shadows. 

"  Good-evening,"  said  Bles  cheerily.  The  woman  with 
the  baby  alone  responded. 


96      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  I  came  for  the  seed  you  promised  us  —  the  cotton 
seed." 

The  hag  wheeled  and  approached  him  swiftly,  grasp 
ing  his  shoulders  and  twisting  her  face  into  his.  She  was 
a  horrible  thing  —  filthy  of  breath,  dirty,  with  dribbling 
mouth  and  red  eyes.  Her  few  long  black  teeth  hung 
loosely  like  tusks  and  the  folds  of  fat  on  her  chin  curled 
down  on  her  great  neck.  Bles  shuddered  and  stepped 
back. 

"  Is  you  af eared,  honey  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"  No,"  he  said  sturdily. 

She  chuckled  drily.  "  Yes,  you  is  —  everybody  's 
'feared  of  old  Elspeth ;  but  she  won't  hurt  you  —  you  's 
got  the  spell ;  "  and  wheeling  again,  she  was  back  at  the 
fire. 

"  But  the  seed?  "  he  ventured. 

She  pointed  impressively  roofward.  "  The  dark  of  the 
moon,  boy,  the  dark  of  the  moon  —  the  first  dark  —  at 
midnight."  Bles  could  not  wring  another  word  from 
her ;  nor  did  the  ancient  witch,  by  word  or  look,  again 
give  the  slightest  indication  that  she  was  aware  of  his 
presence. 

With  reluctant  farewell,  Bles  turned  home.  For  a 
space  Zora  watched  him,  and  once  she  started  after  him, 
but  came  slowly  back,  and  sat  by  the  fire-place. 

Out  of  the  night  came  voices  and  laughter,  and  the 
sound  of  wheels  and  galloping  horses.  It  was  not  the 
soft,  rollicking  laughter  of  black  men,  but  the  keener, 
more  metallic  sound  of  white  men's  cries,  and  Bles  Alwyn 
paused  at  the  edge  of  the  wood,  looked  back  and  hesitated, 
but  decided  after  a  moment  to  go  home  and  to  bed. 

Zora,  however,  leapt  to  her  feet  and  fled  into  the  night, 
while  the  hag  screamed  after  her  and  cursed.  There  was 


THE  PLANTING  97 

tramping  of  feet  on  the  cabin  floor,  and  loud  voices  and 
singing  and  cursing. 

"Where's  Zora?  "  some  one  yelled,  with  an  oath. 
"  Damn  it!  where  is  she?  I  have  n't  seen  her  for  a  year, 
you  old  devil." 

The  hag  whimpered  and  snarled.  Far  down  in  the 
field  of  the  Fleece,  Zora  lay  curled  beneath  a  tall  dark 
tree  asleep.  All  night  there  was  coming  and  going  in 
the  cabin;  the  talk  and  laughter  grew  loud  and  boister 
ous,  and  the  red  fire  glared  in  the  night. 

The  days  flew  by  and  the  moon  darkened.  In  the 
swamp,  the  hidden  island  lay  spaded  and  bedded,  and  Bles 
was  throwing  up  a  dyke  around  the  edge ;  Zora  helped 
him  until  he  came  to  the  black  oak  at  the  western  edge. 
It  was  a  large  twisted  thing  with  one  low  flying  limb  that 
curled  out  across  another  tree  and  made  a  mighty  seat 
above  the  waters. 

"  Don't  throw  the  dirt  too  high  there,"  she  begged ; 
"  it  '11  bring  my  seat  too  near  the  earth." 

He  looked  up. 

"  Why,  it 's  a  throne,"  he  laughed. 

"  It  needs  a  roof,"  he  whimsically  told  her  when  his 
day's  work  was  done.  Deftly  twisting  and  intertwining 
the  branches  of  tree  and  bush,  he  wove  a  canopy  of  living 
green  that  shadowed  the  curious  nest  and  warded  it 
snugly  from  wind  and  water. 

Early  next  morning  Bles  slipped  down  and  improved 
the  nest;  adding  foot-rests  to  make  the  climbing  easy, 
peep-holes  east  and  west,  a  bit  of  carpet  over  the  bark, 
and  on  the  rough  main  trunk,  a  little  picture  in  blue  and 
gold  of  Bougereau's  Madonna.  Zora  sat  hidden  and  alone 
in  silent  ecstasy.  Bles  peeped  in  —  there  was  not  room  to 


98      THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

enter:  the  girl  was  staring  silently  at  the  Madonna.  She 
seemed  to  feel  rather  than  hear  his  presence,  and  she  in 
quired  softly: 

"Who's  it,  Bles?" 

"  The  mother  of  God,"  he  answered  reverently. 

"  And  why  does  she  hold  a  lily  ?  " 

"  It  stands  for  purity  —  she  was  a  good  woman." 

"  With  a  baby,"  Zora  added  slowly. 

"  Yes  ! —  "  said  Bles,  and  then  more  quickly  — -  "  It  is 
the  Christ  Child  —  God's  baby." 

"  God  is  the  father  of  all  the  little  babies,  ain't  He, 
Bles?" 

"  Why,  yes  —  yes,  of  course ;  only  this  little  baby 
did  n't  have  any  other  father." 

"  Yes,  I  know  one  like  that,"  she  said,  —  and  then  she 
added  softly :  "  Poor  little  Christ-baby." 

Bles  hesitated,  and  before  he  found  words  Zora  was 
saying : 

"  How  white  she  is ;  she  *s  as  white  as  the  lily,  Bles ; 
but  —  I  'm  sorry   she  's  white  —  Bles,  what 's   purity  - 
just  whiteness?  " 

Bles  glanced  at  her  awkwardly  but  she  was  still  star 
ing  wide-eyed  at  the  picture,  and  her  voice  was  earnest. 
She  was  now  so  old  and  again  so  much  a  child,  an  eager 
questioning  child,  that  there  seemed  about  her  innocence 
something  holy. 

"  It  means,"  he  stammered,  groping  for  meanings  — 
"it  means  being  good  —  just  as  good  as  a  woman  knows 
how." 

She  wheeled  quickly  toward  him  and  asked  him  eagerly : 

"Not  better  —  not  better  than  she  knows,  but  just  as 
good,  in  —  lying  and  stealing  and  —  and  everything  ?  " 


THE  PLANTING  99 

Bles  smiled. 

"No  —  not  better  than  she  knows,  but  just  as  good." 

She  trembled  happily. 

"  I  'm  —  pure,"  she  said,  with  a  strange  little  breaking 
voice  and  gesture.  A  sob  struggled  in  his  throat. 

"  Of  course  you  are,"  he  whispered  tenderly,  hiding 
her  little  hands  in  his. 

"I  —  I  was  so  afraid  —  sometimes  —  that  I  was  n't," 
she  whispered,  lifting  up  to  him  her  eyes  streaming  with 
tears.  Silently  he  kissed  her  lips. 

From  that  day  on  they  walked  together  in  a  new  world. 
No  revealing  word  was  spoken ;  no  vows  were  given,  none 
asked  for;  but  a  new  bond  held  them.  She  grew  older, 
quieter,  taller,  he  humbler,  more  tender  and  reverent,  as 
they  toiled  together. 

So  the  days  passed.  The  sun  burned  in  the  heavens ; 
but  the  silvered  glory  of  the  moon  grew  fainter  and 
fainter  and  each  night  it  rose  later  than  the  night  before. 
Then  one  day  Zora  whispered: 

"To-night!" 

Bles  came  to  the  cabin,  and  he  and  Zora  and  Elspeth 
sat  silently  around  the  fire-place  with  its  meagre  embers. 
The  night  was  balmy  and  still;  only  occasionally  a  wan 
dering  breeze  searching  the  hidden  places  of  the  swamp, 
or  the  call  and  song  of  night  birds,  jarred  the  stillness. 
Long  they  sat,  until  the  silence  crept  into  Bles's  flesh, 
and  stretching  out  his  hand,  he  touched  Zora's,  clasp 
ing  it. 

After  a  time  the  old  woman  rose  and  hobbled  to  a  big 
black  chest.  Out  of  it  she  brought  an  old  bag  of  cotton 
seed  —  not  the  white-green  seed  which  Bles  had  always 
known,  but  small,  smooth  black  seeds,  which  she  handled 


100    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

carefully,  dipping  her  hands  deep  down  and  letting  them 
drop  through  her  gnarled  fingers.  And  so  again  they  sat 
and  waited  and  waited,  saying  no  word. 

Not  until  the  stars  of  midnight  had  swung  to  the  zenith 
did  they  start  down  through  the  swamp.  Bles  sought  to 
guide  the  old  woman,  but  he  found  she  knew  the  way 
better  than  he  did.  Her  shadowy  figure  darting  in  and 
out  among  the  trunks  till  they  crossed  the  tree  bridge, 
moved  ever  noiselessly  ahead. 

She  motioned  the  boy  and  girl  away  to  the  thicket  at 
the  edge,  and  stood  still  and  black  in  the  midst  of  the 
cleared  island.  Bles  slipped  his  arm  protectingly  around 
Zora,  glancing  fearfully  about  in  the  darkness.  Slowly  a 
great  cry  rose  and  swept  the  island.  It  struck  madly 
and  sharply,  and  then  died  away  to  uneasy  murmuring. 
From  afar  there  seemed  to  come  the  echo  or  the  answer 
to  the  call.  The  form  of  Elspeth  blurred  the  night  dimly 
far  off,  almost  disappearing,  and  then  growing  blacker 
and  larger.  They  heard  the  whispering  "  swish-swish  " 
of  falling  seed;  they  felt  the  heavy  tread  of  a  great  com 
ing  body.  The  form  of  the  old  woman  suddenly  loomed 
black  above  them,  hovering  a  moment  formless  and  vast 
then  fading  again  away,  and  the  "  swish-swish  "  of  the 
falling  seed  alone  rose  in  the  silence  of  the  night. 

At  last  all  was  still.  A  long  silence.  Then  again  the 
air  seemed  suddenly  filled  with  that  great  and  awful  cry; 
its  echoing  answer  screamed  afar  and  they  heard  the 
raucous  voice  of  Elspeth  beating  in  their  ears : 

"  De  seed  done  sowed!    De  seed  done  sowed!  " 


CHAPTER  X 

MR.  TAYLOR  CALLS 

THINKING  the  matter  over,"  said  Harry  Cress- 
well  to  his  father,  "  I  'm  inclined  to  advise  drawing 
this  Taylor  out  a  little  further." 

The  Colonel  puffed  his  cigar  and  one  eye  twinkled,  the 
lid  of  the  other  being  at  the  moment  suggestively  lowered. 

"Was  she  pretty?  "  he  asked;  but  his  son  ignored  the 
remark,  and  the  father  continued: 

"  I  had  a  telegram  from  Taylor  this  morning,  after 
you  left.  He  '11  be  passing  through  Montgomery  the 
first  of  next  month,  and  proposes  calling." 

"  I  '11  wire  him  to  come,"  said  Harry,  promptly. 

At  this  juncture  the  door  opened  and  a  young  lady 
entered.  Helen  Cresswell  was  twenty,  small  and  pretty, 
with  a  slightly  languid  air.  Outside  herself  there  was 
little  in  which  she  took  very  great  interest,  and  her  in 
terest  in  herself  was  not  absorbing.  Yet  she  had  a 
curiously  sweet  way.  Her  servants  liked  her  and  the 
tenants  could  count  on  her  spasmodic  attentions  in  time 
of  sickness  and  trouble. 

"  Good-morning,"  she  said,  with  a  soft  drawl.  She 
sauntered  over  to  her  father,  kissed  him,  and  hung  over 
the  back  of  his  chair. 

"  Did  you  get  that  novel  for  me,  Harry  ?  "  —  expect 
antly  regarding  her  brother. 

[101] 


102    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  I  forgot  it,  Sis.  But  I  '11  be  going  to  town  again 
soon." 

The  young  lady  showed  that  she  was  annoyed. 

"  By  the  bye,  Sis,  there  's  a  young  lady  over  at  the 
Negro  school  whom  I  think  you  'd  like." 

"Black  or  white?" 

"  A  young  lady,  I  said.     Don't  be  sarcastic." 

"  I  heard  you.  I  did  not  know  whether  you  were  using 
our  language  or  others'." 

"  She  's  really  unusual,  and  seems  to  understand  things. 
She 's  planning  to  call  some  day  —  shall  you  be  at 
home?" 

"  Certainly  not,  Harry ;  you  're  crazy."  And  she 
strolled  out  to  the  porch,  exchanged  some  remarks  with 
a  passing  servant,  and  then  nestled  comfortably  into  a 
hammock.  She  helped  herself  to  a  chocolate  and  called 
out  musically: 

"  Pa,  are  you  going  to  town  to-day?  " 

"  Yes,  honey." 

"Can  I  go?" 

"  I  'm  going  in  an  hour  or  so,  and  business  at  the  bank 
will  keep  me  until  after  lunch." 

"  I  don't  care,  I  just  must  go.  I  'm  clean  out  of  any 
thing  to  read.  And  I  want  to  shop  and  call  on  Dolly's 
friend  —  she  's  going  soon." 

"  All  right.     Can  you  be  ready  by  eleven  ?  " 

She  considered. 

"  Yes  —  I  reckon,"  she  drawled,  prettily  swinging  her 
foot  and  watching  the  tree-tops  above  the  distant  swamp. 

Harry  Cresswell,  left  alone,  rang  the  bell  for  the  butler. 

"  Still  thinking  of  going,  are  you,  Sam?  "  asked  Cress- 
well,  carelessly,  when  the  servant  appeared.  He  was  a 
young,  light-brown  boy,  his  manner  obsequious. 


MR.  TAYLOR  CALLS  103 

"  Why,  yes,  sir  —  if  you  can  spare  me." 

"  Spare  you,  you  black  rascal !  You  're  going  anyhow. 
Well,  you  '11  repent  it ;  the  North  is  no  place  for  niggers. 
See  here,  I  want  lunch  for  two  at  one  o'clock."  The 
directions  that  followed  were  explicit  and  given  with  a 
particularity  that  made  Sam  wonder.  "  Order  my  trap," 
he  finally  directed. 

Cresswell  went  out  on  the  high-pillared  porch  until  the 
trap  appeared. 

"  Oh,  Harry !  I  wanted  to  go  in  the  trap  —  take  me?  " 
coaxed  his  sister. 

"  Sorry,  Sis,  but  I  'm  going  the  other  way." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Miss  Cresswell,  easily,  as  she 
settled  down  to  another  chocolate.  Cresswell  did  not  take 
the  trouble  to  reply. 

Miss  Taylor  was  on  her  morning  walk  when  she  saw 
him  spinning  down  the  road,  and  both  expressed  surprise 
and  pleasure  at  the  meeting. 

"  What  a  delightful  morning !  "  said  the  school-teacher, 
and  the  glow  on  her  face  said  even  more. 

"  I  'm  driving  round  through  the  old  plantation,"  he 
explained;  "won't  you  join  me?" 

"  The  invitation  is  tempting,"  she  hesitated ;  "  but  I  've 
got  just  oodles  of  work." 

"What!  on  Saturday?" 

"  Saturday  is  my  really  busy  day,  don't  you  know.  I 
guess  I  could  get  off;  really,  though,  I  suspect  I  ought  to 
tell  Miss  Smith." 

He  looked  a  little  perplexed ;  but  the  direction  in  which 
her  inclinations  lay  was  quite  clear  to  him. 

"  It  —  it  would  be  decidedly  the  proper  thing,"  he 
murmured,  "  and  we  could,  of  course,  invite  Miss  — 

She  saw  the  difficulty  and  interrupted  him: 


104    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  It 's  quite  unnecessary ;  she  '11  think  I  have  simply 
gone  for  a  long  walk."  And  soon  they  were  speeding 
down  the  silent  road,  breathing  the  perfume  of  the  pines. 

Now  a  ride  of  an  early  spring  morning,  in  Alabama, 
over  a  leisurely  old  plantation  road  and  behind  a  spirited 
horse,  is  an  event  to  be  enjoyed.  Add  to  this  a  man  bred 
to  be  agreeable  and  outdoing  his  training,  and  a  pretty 
girl  gay  with  new-found  companionship  —  all  this  is  apt 
to  make  a  morning  worth  remembering. 

They  turned  off  the  highway  and  passed  through  long 
stretches  of  ploughed  and  tumbled  fields,  and  other  fields 
brown  with  the  dead  ghosts  of  past  years'  cotton  stand 
ing  straggling  and  weather-worn.  Long,  straight,  or 
curling  rows  of  ploughers  passed  by  with  steaming,  strug 
gling  mules,  with  whips  snapping  and  the  yodle  of  work 
ers  or  the  sharp  guttural  growl  of  overseers  as  a  constant 
accompaniment. 

"  They  're  beginning  to  plough  up  the  land  for  the 
cotton-crop,"  he  explained. 

"  What  a  wonderful  crop  it  is !  "  Mary  had  fallen 
pensive. 

"  Yes,  indeed  —  if  only  we  could  get  decent  returns 
for  it." 

"  Why,  I  thought  it  was  a  most  valuable  crop."  She 
turned  to  him  inquiringly. 

"  It  is  —  to  Negroes  and  manufacturers,  but  not  to 
planters." 

"  But  why  don't  the  planters  do  something?  " 

"  What  can  be  done  with  Negroes  ?  "  His  tone  was 
bitter.  "  We  tried  to  combine  against  manufacturers  in 
the  Farmers'  League  of  last  winter.  My  father  was 
president.  The  pastime  cost  him  fifty  thousand  dollars." 

Miss   Taylor  was  perplexed,  but  eager.      "  You  must 


MR.  TAYLOR  CALLS  105 

correspond  with  my  brother,  Mr.  Cresswell,"  she  gravely 
observed.  "  I  'm  sure  he  —  Before  she  could  finish, 

an  overseer  rode  up.  He  began  talking  abruptly,  with  a 
quick  side-glance  at  Mary,  in  which  she  might  have  caught 
a  gleam  of  surprised  curiosity. 

"  That  old  nigger,  Jim  Sykes,  over  on  the  lower  place, 
sir,  ain't  showed  up  again  this  morning." 

Cresswell  nodded.  "  I  '11  drive  by  and  see,"  he  said 
carelessly. 

The  old  man  was  discovered  sitting  before  his  cabin 
with  his  head  in  his  hands.  He  was  tall,  black,  and  gaunt, 
partly  bald,  with  tufted  hair.  One  leg  was  swathed  in 
rags,  and  his  eyes,  as  he  raised  them,  wore  a  cowed  and 
furtive  look. 

"  Well,  Uncle  Jim,  why  are  n't  you  at  work  ?  "  called 
Cresswell  from  the  roadside.  The  old  man  rose  pain 
fully  to  his  feet,  swayed  against  the  cabin,  and  clutched 
off  his  cap. 

"  It 's  my  leg  again,  Master  Harry  —  the  leg  what  I 
hurt  in  the  gin  last  fall,"  he  answered,  uneasily. 

Cresswell  frowned.  "  It 's  probably  whiskey,"  he  as 
sured  his  companion,  in  an  undertone ;  then  to  the  man : 

"You  must  get  to  the  field  to-morrow," — his  habit 
ually  calm,  unfeeling  positiveness  left  no  ground  for  ob 
jection;  "I  cannot  support  you  in  idleness,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  Master  Harry,"  the  other  returned,  with  con 
ciliatory  eagerness ;  "  I  knows  that  —  I  knows  it  and  I 
ain't  shirking.  But,  Master  Harry,  they  ain't  doing  me 
right  'bout  my  cabin  —  I  just  wants  to  show  you."  He 
got  out  some  dirty  papers,  and  started  to  hobble  for 
ward,  wincing  with  pain.  Mary  Taylor  stirred  in  her 
seat  under  an  involuntary  impulse  to  help,  but  Cresswell 
touched  the  horse. 


106    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  All  right,  Uncle  Jim,"  he  said ;  "  we  '11  look  it  over 
to-morrow." 

They  turned  presently  to  where  they  could  see  the 
Cresswell  oaks  waving  lazily  in  the  sunlight  and  the  white 
gleam  of  the  pillared  "  Big  House." 

A  pause  at  the  Cresswell  store,  where  Mr.  Cresswell 
entered,  afforded  Mary  Taylor  an  opportunity  further 
to  extend  her  fund  of  information. 

"  Do  you  go  to  school?  "  she  inquired  of  the  black  boy 
who  held  the  horse,  her  mien  sympathetic  and  interested. 

"  No,  ma'am,"  he  mumbled. 

"  What 's  your  name?  " 

"Buddy  — Pse  one  of  Aunt  Rachel's  chilluns." 

"  And  where  do  you  live,  Buddy  ?  " 

"  I  lives  with  granny,  on  de  upper  place." 

"  Well,  I  '11  see  Aunt  Rachel  and  ask  her  to  send  you 
to  school." 

"  Won't  do  no  good  —  she  done  ast,  and  Mr.  Cress- 
well,  he  say  he  ain't  going  to  have  no  more  of  his 
niggers  — " 

But  Mr.  Cresswell  came  out  just  then,  and  with  him  a 
big,  fat,  and  greasy  black  man,  with  little  eyes  and  soft 
wheedling  voice.  He  was  following  Cresswell  at  the  side 
but  just  a  little  behind,  hat  in  hand,  head  aslant,  and  talk 
ing  deferentially.  Cresswell  strode  carelessly  on,  answer 
ing  him  with  good-natured  tolerance. 

The  black  man  stopped  with  humility  before  the  trap 
and  swept  a  profound  obeisance.  Cresswell  glanced  up 
quizzically  at  Miss  Taylor. 

"  This,"  he  announced,  "  is  Jones,  the  Baptist 
preacher  —  begging." 

"  Ah,  lady,"  —  in  mellow,  unctuous  tones  —  "I  don't 
know  what  we  poor  black  folks  would  do  without  Mr. 


MR.  TAYLOR  CALLS  107 

Cresswell  —  the  Lord  bless  him,"  said  the  minister,  shov 
ing  his  hand  far  down  into  his  pocket. 

Shortly  afterward  they  were  approaching  the  Cresswell 
Mansion,  when  the  young  man  reined  in  the  horse. 

"  If  you  would  n't  mind,"  he  suggested,  "  I  could  in 
troduce  my  sister  to  you." 

"  I  should  be  delighted,"  answered  Miss  Taylor, 
readily. 

When  they  rolled  up  to  the  homestead  under  its  famous 
oaks  the  hour  was  past  one.  The  house  was  a  white  ob 
long  building  of  two  stories.  In  front  was  the  high 
pillared  porch,  semi-circular,  extending  to  the  roof  with 
a  balcony  in  the  second  story.  On  the  right  was  a  broad 
verandah  looking  toward  a  wide  lawn,  with  the  main  road 
and  the  red  swamp  in  the  distance. 

The  butler  met  them,  all  obeisance. 

"  Ask  Miss  Helen  to  come  down,"  said  Mr.  Cresswell. 

Sam  glanced  at  him. 

"  Miss  Helen  will  be  dreadful  sorry,  but  she  and  the 
Colonel  have  just  gone  to  town  —  I  believe  her  Aunty 
ain't  well." 

Mr.  Cresswell  looked  annoyed. 

"Well,  well!  that's  too  bad,"  he  said.  "But  at  any 
rate,  have  a  seat  a  moment  out  here  on  the  verandah, 
Miss  Taylor.  And,  Sam,  can't  you  find  us  a  sandwich 
and  something  cool?  I  could  not  be  so  inhospitable  as  to 
send  you  away  hungry  at  this  time  of  day." 

Miss  Taylor  sat  down  in  a  comfortable  low  chair  fac 
ing  the  refreshing  breeze,  and  feasted  her  eyes  on  the 
scene.  Oh,  this  was  life:  a  smooth  green  lawn,  and  beds 
of  flowers,  a  vista  of  brown  fields,  and  the  dark  line  of 
wood  beyond.  The  deft,  quiet  butler  brought  out  a  little 
table,  spread  with  the  whitest  of  cloths  and  laid  with  the 


108    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

brightest  of  silver,  and  "  found  "  a  dainty  lunch.  There 
was  a  bit  of  fried  chicken  breast,  some  crisp  bacon,  browned 
potatoes,  little  round  beaten  biscuit,  and  rose-colored 
sherbet  with  a  whiff  of  wine  in  it.  Miss  Taylor  wondered 
a  little  at  the  bounty  of  Southern  hospitality;  but  she 
was  hungry,  and  she  ate  heartily,  then  leaned  back 
dreamily  and  listened  to  Mr.  Cresswell's  smooth  Southern 
r's,  adding  a  word  here  and  there  that  kept  the  conversa 
tion  going  and  brought  a  grave  smile  to  his  pale  lips. 
At  last  with  a  sigh  she  arose  to  her  feet. 

"  I  must  go  !  What  shall  I  tell  Miss  Smith !  No,  no  — 
no  carriage;  I  must  walk."  Of  course,  however,  she 
could  not  refuse  to  let  him  go  at  least  half-way,  ostensibly 
to  tell  her  of  the  coming  of  her  brother.  He  expressed 
again  his  disappointment  at  his  sister's  absence. 

Somewhat  to  Miss  Taylor's  surprise  Miss  Smith  said 
nothing  until  they  were  parting  for  the  night,  then  she 
asked : 

"  Was  Miss  Cresswell  at  home  ?  " 

Mary  reddened. 

"  She  had  been  called  suddenly  to  town." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  would  n't  do  it  again." 

The  girl  was  angry. 

"  I  'm  not  a  school-girl,  but  a  grown  woman,  and  ca 
pable  of  caring  for  myself.  Moreover,  in  matter  of 
propriety  I  do  not  think  you  have  usually  found  my  ideas 
too  lax  —  rather  the  opposite." 

"  There,  there,  dear ;  don't  be  angry.  Only  I  think  if 
your  brother  knew  —  " 

"  He  will  know  in  a  very  few  weeks ;  he  is  coming  to 
visit  the  Cresswells."  And  Miss  Taylor  sailed  triumph 
antly  up  the  stairs. 

But  John  Taylor  was  not  the  man  to  wait  weeks  when 


MR.  TAYLOR  CALL  109 

a  purpose  could  be  accomplished  in  days  or  hours.  No 
sooner  was  Harry  Cresswell's  telegram  at  hand  than  he 
hastened  back  from  Savannah,  struck  across  country,  and 
the  week  after  his  sister's  ride  found  him  striding  up  the 
carriage-way  of  the  Cresswell  home. 

John  Taylor  had  prospered  since  summer.  The  cotton 
manufacturers'  combine  was  all  but  a  fact;  Mr.  Easterly 
had  discovered  that  his  chief  clerk's  sense  and  executive 
ability  were  invaluable,  and  John  Taylor  was  slated  for  a 
salary  in  five  figures  when  things  should  be  finally  settled, 
not  to  mention  a  generous  slice  of  stock  —  watery  at  pres 
ent,  but  warranted  to  ripen  early. 

While  Mr.  Easterly  still  regarded  Taylor's  larger 
trust  as  chimerical,  some  occurrences  of  the  fall  made 
him  take  a  respectful  attitude  toward  it.  Just  as  the 
final  clauses  of  the  combine  agreement  were  to  be  signed, 
there  appeared  a  shortage  in  the  cotton-crop,  and  prices 
began  to  soar.  The  cause  was  obviously  the  unexpected 
success  of  the  new  Farmers'  League  among  the  cotton- 
growers.  Mr.  Easterly  found  it  comparatively  easy  to 
overthrow  the  corner,  but  the  flurry  made  some  of  the 
manufacturers  timid,  and  the  trust  agreement  was  post 
poned  until  a  year  later.  This  experience  and  the  per 
sistence  of  Mr.  Taylor  induced  Mr.  Easterly  to  take  a 
step  toward  the  larger  project:  he  let  in  some  eager  out 
side  capital  to  the  safer  manufacturing  scheme,  and  with 
drew  a  corresponding  amount  of  Mrs.  Grey's  money. 
This  he  put  into  John  Taylor's  hands  to  invest  in  the 
South  in  bank  stock  and  industries  with  the  idea  of  play 
ing  a  part  in  the  financial  situation  there. 

"  It 's  a  risk,  Taylor,  of  course,  and  we  '11  let  the  old 
lady  take  the  risk.  At  the  worst  it 's  safer  than  the 
damned  foolishness  she  has  in  mind." 


110   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

So  it  happened  that  John  Taylor  went  South  to  look 
after  large  investments  and,  as  Mr.  Easterly  expressed 
it,  "  to  bring  back  facts,  not  dreams."  His  investment 
matters  went  quickly  and  well,  and  now  he  turned  to  his 
wider  and  bigger  scheme.  He  wrote  the  Cresswells  tenta 
tively,  expecting  no  reply,  or  an  evasive  one;  planning 
to  circle  around  them,  drawing  his  nets  closer,  and  trying 
them  again  later.  To  his  surprise  they  responded  quickly. 

"  Humph !  Hard  pressed,"  he  decided,  and  hurried  to 
them. 

So  it  was  the  week  after  Mary  Taylor's  ride  that  found 
him  at  Cresswell's  front  door,  thin,  eagle-eyed,  fairly  well 
dressed  and  radiating  confidence. 

"  John  Taylor,"  he  announced  to  Sam,  jerkily,  thrust 
ing  out  a  card.  "  Want  to  see  Mr.  Cresswell ;  soon  as 
possible." 

Sam  made  him  wait  a  half-hour,  for  the  sake  of  dis 
cipline,  and  then  brought  father  and  son. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Cresswell,  and  Mr.  Cresswell 
again,"  said  Mr.  Taylor,  helping  himself  to  a  straight- 
backed  chair.  "  Hope  you  '11  pardon  this  unexpected 
visit.  Found  myself  called  through  Montgomery,  just 
after  I  got  your  wire ;  thought  I  'd  better  drop  over." 

At  Harry's  suggestion  they  moved  to  the  verandah 
and  sat  down  over  whiskey  and  soda,  which  Taylor  re 
fused,  and  plunged  into  the  subject  without  preliminaries. 

"  I  'm  assuming  that  you  gentlemen  are  in  the  cotton 
business  for  making  money.  So  am  I.  I  see  a  way  in 
which  you  and  your  friends  can  help  me  and  mine,  and 
clear  up  more  millions  than  all  of  us  can  spend;  for  this 
reason  I  've  hunted  you  up.  This  is  my  scheme. 

"  See  here ;  there  are  a  thousand  cotton-mills  in  this 
country,  half  of  them  in  the  South,  one-fourth  in  New 


MR.  TAYLOR  CALLS  111 

England,  and  one-fourth  in  the  Middle  States.  They  are 
capitalized  at  six  hundred  million  dollars.  Now  let  me 
tell  you:  we  control  three  hundred  and  fifty  millions  of 
that  capitalization.  The  trust  is  going  through  capitaliz 
ation  at  a  billion.  The  only  thing  that  threatens  it  is 
child-labor  legislation  in  the  South,  the  tariff,  and  the  con 
trol  of  the  supply  of  cotton.  Pretty  big  hindrances,  you 
say.  That 's  so,  but  look  here :  we  've  got  the  stock  so 
placed  that  nothing  short  of  a  popular  upheaval  can  send 
any  Child  Labor  bill  through  Congress  in  six  years.  See? 
After  that  we  don't  care.  Same  thing  applies  to  the 
tariff.  The  last  bill  ran  ten  years.  The  present  bill  will 
last  longer,  or  I  lose  my  guess  —  'specially  if  Smith  is  in 
the  Senate. 

"  Well,  then,  there  remains  raw  cotton.  The  connec 
tion  of  cotton-raising  and  its  raw  material  is  too  close  to 
risk  a  manufacturing  trust  that  does  not  include  practical 
control  of  the  raw  material.  For  that  reason  we  're 
planning  a  trust  to  include  the  raising  and  manufactur 
ing  of  cotton  in  America.  Then,  too,  cornering  the 
cotton  market  here  means  the  whip-hand  of  the  industrial 
world.  Gentlemen,  it 's  the  biggest  idea  of  the  century. 
It  beats  steel." 

Colonel  Cresswell  chuckled. 

"  How  do  you  spell  that?  "  he  asked. 

But  John  Taylor  was  not  to  be  diverted;  his  thin  face 
was  pale,  but  his  gray  eyes  burned  with  the  fire  of  a 
zealot.  Harry  Cresswell  only  smiled  dimly  and  looked 
interested. 

"  Now,  again,"  continued  John  Taylor.  "  There  are  a 
million  cotton  farms  in  the  South,  half  run  by  colored 
people  and  half  by  whites.  Leave  the  colored  out  of  ac 
count  as  long  as  they  are  disfranchised.  The  half  million 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

white  farms  are  owned  or  controlled  by  five  thousand 
wholesale  merchants  and  three  thousand  big  landowners, 
of  whom  you,  Colonel  Cresswell,  are  among  the  biggest 
with  your  fifty  thousand  acres.  Ten  banks  control  these 
eight  thousand  people  —  one  of  these  is  the  Jefferson  Na 
tional  of  Montgomery,  of  which  you  are  a  silent  director." 

Colonel  Cresswell  started;  this  man  evidently  had  in 
side  information.  Did  he  know  of  the  mortgage,  too? 

"  Don't  be  alarmed.  1 'm  safe,"  Taylor  assured  him. 
"  Now,  then,  if  we  can  get  the  banks,  wholesale  merchants, 
and  biggest  planters  into  line  we  can  control  the  cotton 
crop." 

"  But,"  objected  Harry  Cresswell,  "  while  the  banks 
and  the  large  merchants  may  be  possibilities,  do  you  know 
what  it  means  to  try  to  get  planters  into  line?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do.  And  what  I  don't  know  you  and  your 
father  do.  Colonel  Cresswell  is  president  of  the  Farmers' 
League.  That 's  the  reason  I  'm  here.  Your  success  last 
year  made  you  indispensable  to  our  plans." 

"  Our  success  ?  "  laughed  Colonel  Cresswell,  ruefully, 
thinking  of  the  fifty  thousand  dollars  lost  and  the  mort 
gage  to  cover  it. 

"  Yes,  sir  —  success  !  You  did  n't  know  it ;  we  were 
too  careful  to  allow  that ;  and  I  say  frankly  you  would  n't 
know  it  now  if  we  were  n't  convinced  you  were  too  far 
involved  and  the  League  too  discouraged  to  repeat  the 
dose." 

"  Now,  look  here,  sir,"  began  Colonel  Cresswell,  flush 
ing  and  drawing  himself  erect. 

"  There,  there,  Colonel  Cresswell,  don't  misunderstand 
me.  I  'm  a  plain  man.  I  'm  playing  a  big  game  —  a 
tremendous  one.  I  need  you,  and  I  know  you  need  me.  I 
find  out  about  you,  and  my  sources  of  knowledge  are 


MR.  TAYLOR  CALLS  113 

wide  and  unerring.  But  the  knowledge  is  safe,  sir ;  it  9s 
buried.  Last  year  when  you  people  curtailed  cotton  acre 
age  and  warehoused  a  big  chunk  of  the  crop  you  gave  the 
mill  men  the  scare  of  their  lives.  We  had  a  hasty  con 
ference  and  the  result  was  that  the  bottom  fell  out  of 
your  credit." 

Colonel  Cresswell  grew  pale.  There  was  a  disquieting, 
relentless  element  in  this  unimpassioned  man's  tone. 

"  You  failed,"  pursued  John  Taylor,  "  because  you 
could  n't  get  the  banks  and  the  big  merchants  behind  you. 
We  've  got  'em  behind  us  —  with  big  chunks  of  stock  and 
a  signed  iron-clad  agreement.  You  can  wheel  the  planters 
into  line  —  will  you  do  it?"  John  Taylor  bent  forward 
tense  but  cool  and  steel-like.  Harry  Cresswell  laid  his 
hand  on  his  father's  arm  and  said  quietly: 

"  And  where  do  we  come  in  ?  " 

"  That 's  business,"  affirmed  John  Taylor.  "  You  and 
two  hundred  and  fifty  of  the  biggest  planters  come  in 
on  the  ground-floor  of  the  two-billion-dollar  All-Cotton 
combine.  It  can  easily  mean  two  million  to  you  in  five 
years." 

"  And  the  other  planters?  " 

"  They  come  in  for  high-priced  cotton  until  we  get  our 
grip." 

"And  then?" 

The  quiet  question  seemed  to  invoke  a  vision  for  John 
Taylor ;  the  gray  eyes  took  on  the  faraway  look  of  a  seer ; 
the  thin,  bloodless  lips  formed  a  smile  in  which  there  was 
nothing  pleasant. 

"  They  keep  their  mouths  shut  or  we  squeeze  'em  and 
buy  the  land.  We  propose  to  own  the  cotton  belt  of  the 
South." 

Colonel  Cresswell  started  indignantly  from  his  seat. 


114    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  Do  you  think  —  by  God,  sir !  —  that  I  'd  betray 
Southern  gentlemen  to  —  " 

But  Harry's  hand  and  impassive  manner  restrained 
him;  he  cooled  as  suddenly  as  he  had  flared  up. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  Mr.  Taylor,"  he  concluded ; 
"  we  '11  consider  this  matter  carefully.  You  '11  spend  the 
night,  of  course." 

"  Can't  possibly  —  must  catch  that  next  train  back." 

"  But  we  must  talk  further,"  the  Colonel  insisted. 
"  And  then,  there  's  your  sister." 

"  By  Jove !  Forgot  all  about  Mary."  John  Taylor 
after  a  little  desultory  talk,  followed  his  host  up-stairs. 

The  next  afternoon  John  Taylor  was  sitting  beside 
Helen  Cresswell  on  the  porch  which  overlooked  the  ter 
race,  and  was,  on  the  whole,  thinking  less  of  cotton  than 
he  had  for  several  years.  To  be  sure,  he  was  talking  cot 
ton;  but  he  was  doing  it  mechanically  and  from  long 
habit,  and  was  really  thinking  how  charming  a  girl  Helen 
Cresswell  was.  She  fascinated  him.  For  his  sister  Taylor 
had  a  feeling  of  superiority  that  was  almost  contempt, 
The  idea  of  a  woman  trying  to  understand  and  argue 
about  things  men  knew!  He  admired  the  dashing  and 
handsome  Miss  Easterly,  but  she  scared  him  and  made 
him  angrily  awkward.  This  girl,  on  the  other  hand,  just 
lounged  and  listened  with  an  amused  smile,  or  asked  the 
most  child-like  questions.  She  required  him  to  wait  on 
her  quite  as  a  matter  of  course  —  to  adjust  her  pillows, 
hand  her  the  bon-bons,  and  hunt  for  her  lost  fan.  Mr. 
Taylor,  who  had  not  waited  on  anybody  since  his  mother 
died,  and  not  much  before,  found  a  quite  inexplicable 
pleasure  in  these  little  domesticities.  Several  times  he 
took  out  his  watch  and  frowned;  yet  he  managed  to 
stay  with  her  quite  happily. 


MR.  TAYLOR  CALLS  115 

On  her  part  Miss  Cresswell  was  vastly  amused.  Her 
acquaintance  with  men  was  not  wide,  but  it  was  thorough 
so  far  as  her  own  class  was  concerned.  They  were  all 
well-dressed  and  leisurely,  fairly  good  looking,  and  they 
said  the  same  words  and  did  the  same  things  in  the  same 
way.  They  paid  her  compliments  which  she  did  not  be 
lieve,  and  they  did  not  expect  her  to  believe.  They  were 
charmingly  deferential  in  the  matter  of  dropped  hand 
kerchiefs,  but  tyrannical  of  opinion.  They  were  thought 
ful  about  candy  and  flowers,  but  thoughtless  about  feel 
ings  and  income.  Altogether  they  were  delightful,  but 
cloying.  This  man  was  startlingly  different ;  ungainly 
and  always  in  a  desperate,  unaccountable  hurry.  He 
knew  no  pretty  speeches,  he  certainly  did  not  measure  up 
to  her  standard  of  breeding,  and  yet  somehow  he  was  a 
gentleman.  All  this  was  new  to  Helen  Cresswell,  and  she 
liked  it. 

Meantime  the  men  above-stairs  lingered  in  the  Colonel's 
office  —  the  older  one  perturbed  and  sputtering,  the 
younger  insistent  and  imperturbable. 

"  The  fact  is,  father,"  he  was  saying,  "  as  you  your 
self  have  said,  one  bad  crop  of  cotton  would  almost  ruin 
us." 

"  But  the  prospects  are  good." 

"  What  are  prospects  in  March  ?  No,  father,  this  is 
the  situation  —  three  good  crops  in  succession  will  wipe 
off  our  indebtedness  and  leave  us  facing  only  low  prices 
and  a  scarcity  of  niggers ;  on  the  other  hand  —  "  The 
father  interrupted  impatiently. 

"  Yes,  on  the  other  hand,  if  we  plunge  deeper  in  debt 
and  betray  our  friends  we  may  come  out  millionaires  or  — 
paupers." 

"  Precisely,"    said   Harry    Cresswell,    calmly.      "  Now, 


116    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

our  plan  is  to  take  no  chances;  I  propose  going  North 
and  looking  into  this  matter  thoroughly.  If  he  represents 
money  and  has  money,  and  if  the  trust  has  really  got 
the  grip  he  says  it  has,  why,  it 's  a  case  of  crush  or  get 
crushed,  and  we  '11  have  to  join  them  on  their  own  terms. 
If  he  's  bluffing,  or  the  thing  looks  weak,  we  '11  wait." 

It  all  ended  as  matters  usually  did  end,  in  Harry's 
having  his  way.  He  came  downstairs,  expecting,  indeed, 
rather  hoping,  to  find  Taylor  impatiently  striding  to  and 
fro,  watch  in  hand;  but  here  he  was,  ungainly,  it  might 
be,  but  quite  docile,  drawing  the  picture  of  a  power-loom 
for  Miss  Cresswell,  who  seemed  really  interested.  Harry 
silently  surveyed  them  from  the  door,  and  his  face  lighted 
with  a  new  thought. 

Taylor,  espying  him,  leapt  to  his  feet  and  hauled  out 
his  watch. 

"Well  — I—  "  he  began  lamely. 

"  No,  you  were  n't  either,"  interrupted  Harry,  with  a 
laugh  that  was  unmistakably  cordial  and  friendly.  "  You 
had  quite  forgotten  what  you  were  waiting  for  —  is  n't 
that  so,  Sis?" 

Helen  regarded  her  brother  through  her  veiling  lashes : 
what  meant  this  sudden  assumption  of  warmth  and 
amiability  ? 

"  No,  indeed ;  he  was  raging  with  impatience,"  she 
returned. 

"  Why,  Miss  Cresswell,  I  —  I  —  "  John  Taylor  for 
sook  social  amenities  and  pulled  himself  together. 
"Well,"  shortly,  "now  for  that  talk  — ready?"  And 
quite  forgetting  Miss  Cresswell,  he  bolted  into  the  parlor. 

"  The  decision  we  have  come  to  is  this,"  said  Harry 
Cresswell.  "  We  are  in  debt,  as  you  know." 

"  Forty-nine   thousand,   seven   hundred   and   forty-two 


MR.  TAYLOR  CALLS  117 

dollars  and  twelve  cents,"  responded  Taylor ;  "  in  three 
notes,  due  in  twelve,  twenty-four,  and  thirty-six  months, 
interest  at  eight  per  cent,  held  by  —  " 

The  Colonel  snorted  his  amazement,  and  Harry  Cress- 
well  cut  in : 

"  Yes,"  he  calmly  admitted;  "  and  with  good  crops  for 
three  years  we  'd  be  all  right ;  good  crops  even  for  two 
years  would  leave  us  fairly  well  off." 

"  You  mean  it  would  relieve  you  of  the  present 
stringency  and  put  you  face  to  face  with  the  falling  price 
of  cotton  and  rising  wages,"  was  John  Taylor's  dry 
addendum. 

"  Rising  price  of  cotton,  you  mean,"  Harry  corrected. 

"  Oh,  temporarily,"  John  Taylor  admitted. 

"  Precisely,  and  thus  postpone  the  decision." 

"  No,  Mr.  Cresswell.  I  'm  offering  to  let  you  in  on  the 
ground  floor  —  now  —  not  next  year,  or  year  after." 

"  Mr.  Taylor,  have  you  any  money  in  this  ?  " 

"  Everything  I  've  got." 

"  Well,  the  thing  is  this  way :  if  you  can  prove  to  us 
that  conditions  are  as  you  say,  we  're  in  for  it." 

"  Good !  Meet  me  in  New  York,  say  —  let 's  see,  this  is 
March  tenth  —  well,  May  third." 

Young  Cresswell  was  thinking  rapidly.  This  man 
without  doubt  represented  money.  He  was  anxious  for 
an  alliance.  Why?  Was  it  all  straight,  or  did  the  whole 
move  conceal  a  trick? 

His  eyes  strayed  to  the  porch  where  his  pretty  sister 
sat  languidly,  and  then  toward  the  school  where  the  other 
sister  lived.  John  Taylor  looked  out  on  the  porch,  too. 
They  glanced  quickly  at  each  other,  and  each  wondered 
if  the  other  had  shared  his  thought.  Harry  Cresswell 
did  not  voice  his  mind  for  he  was  not  wholly  disposed  to 


118    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

welcome  what  was  there;  but  he  could  not  refrain  from 
saying  in  tones  almost  confidential: 

"  You  could  recommend  this  deal,  then,  could  you  — 
to  your  own  friends  ?  " 

"  To  my  own  family,"  asserted  John  Taylor,  looking  at 
Harry  Cresswell  with  sudden  interest.  But  Mr.  Cress- 
well  was  staring  at  the  end  of  his  cigar. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  FLOWERING  OF  THE  FLEECE 

ZORA,"  observed  Miss  Smith,  "  it 's  a  great  bless 
ing  not  to  need  spectacles,  is  n't  it?  " 

Zora  thought  that  it  was ;  but  she  was  wonder 
ing  just  what  spectacles  had  to  do  with  the  complaint 
she  had  brought  to  the  office  from  Miss  Taylor. 

"  I  'm  always  losing  my  glasses  and  they  get  dirty  and 
—  Oh,  dear !  now  where  is  that  paper  ?  " 

Zora  pointed  silently  to  the  complaint. 

"  No,  not  that  —  another  paper.  It  must  be  in  my 
room.  Don't  you  want  to  come  up  and  help  me  look  ?  " 

They  went  up  to  the  clean,  bare  room,  with  its  white 
iron  bed,  its  cool,  spotless  shades  and  shining  window's. 
Zora  walked  about  softly  and  looked,  while  Miss  Smith 
quietly  searched  on  desk  and  bureau,  paying  no  attention 
to  the  girl.  For  the  time  being  she  was  silent. 

"  I  sometimes  wish,"  she  began  at  length,  "  I  had  a 
bright-eyed  girl  like  you  to  help  me  find  and  place 
things." 

Zora  made  no  comment. 

"  Sometimes  Bles  helps  me,"  added  Miss  Smith,  guile 
fully. 

Zora  looked  sharply  at  her.  "Could  I  help?"  she 
asked,  almost  timidly. 

[119] 


120    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  Why,  I  don't  know,"  —  the  answer  was  deliberate. 
"  There  are  one  or  two  little  things  perhaps  —  " 

Placing  a  hand  gently  upon  Zora's  shoulder,  she 
pointed  out  a  few  odd  tasks,  and  left  the  girl  busily  doing 
them ;  then  she  returned  to  the  office,  and  threw  Miss 
Taylor's  complaint  into  the  waste-basket. 

For  a  week  or  more  Zora  slipped  in  every  day  and 
performed  the  little  tasks  that  Miss  Smith  laid  out:  she 
sorted  papers,  dusted  the  bureau,  hung  a  curtain ;  she 
did  not  do  the  things  very  well,  and  she  broke  some  china, 
but  she  worked  earnestly  and  quickly,  and  there  was  no 
thought  of  pay.  Then,  too,  did  not  Bles  praise  her  with 
a  happy  smile,  as  together,  day  after  day,  they  stood  and 
watched  the  black  dirt  where  the  Silver  Fleece  lay 
planted?  She  dreamed  and  sang  over  that  dark  field,  and 
again  and  again  appealed  to  him :  "  S'pose  it  should  n't 
come  up  after  all?  "  And  he  would  laugh  and  say  that 
of  course  it  would  come  up. 

One  day,  when  Zora  was  helping  Miss  Smith  in  the 
bedroom,  she  paused  with  her  arms  full  of  clothes  fresh 
from  the  laundry. 

"Where  shall  I  put  these?" 

Miss  Smith  looked  around.  "  They  might  go  in  there," 
she  said,  pointing  to  a  door.  Zora  opened  it.  A  tiny 
bedroom  was  disclosed,  with  one  broad  window  looking 
toward  the  swamp ;  white  curtains  adorned  it,  and  white 
hangings  draped  the  plain  bureau  and  wash-stand  and  the 
little  bed.  There  was  a  study  table,  and  a  small  book 
shelf  holding  a  few  books,  all  simple  and  clean.  Zora 
paused  uncertainly,  and  surveyed  the  room. 

"  Sometimes  when  you  're  tired  and  want  to  be  alone 
you  can  come  up  here,  Zora,"  said  Miss  Smith  care 
lessly.  "  No  one  uses  this  room." 


THE  FLOWERING  OF  THE  FLEECE 

Zora  caught  her  breath  sharply,  but  said  nothing. 
The  next  day  Miss  Smith  said  to  her  when  she  came  in  : 

"  I  'm  busy  now,  dear,  but  you  go  up  to  your  little 
room  and  read  and  I  '11  call." 

Zora  quietly  obeyed.  An  hour  later  Miss  Smith  looked 
in,  then  she  closed  the  door  lightly  and  left.  Another 
hour  flew  by  before  Zora  hurried  down. 

"  I  was  reading,  and  I  forgot,"  she  said. 

"It's  all  right,"  returned  Miss  Smith.  "I  didn't 
need  you.  And  any  day,  after  you  get  all  your  lessons, 
I  think  Miss  Taylor  will  excuse  you  and  let  you  go  to 
your  room  and  read."  Miss  Taylor,  it  transpired,  was 
more  than  glad. 

Day  after  day  Bles  and  Zora  visited  the  field ;  but  ever 
the  ground  lay  an  unrelieved  black  beneath  the  bright 
sun,  and  they  would  go  reluctantly  home  again.  To-day 
there  was  much  work  to  be  done,  and  Zora  labored  steadily 
and  eagerly,  never  pausing,  and  gaining  in  deftness  and 
care. 

In  the  afternoon  Bles  went  to  town  with  the  school 
wagon.  A  light  shower  flew  up  from  the  south,  lingered 
a  while  and  fled,  leaving  a  fragrance  in  the  air.  For  a 
moment  Zora  paused,  and  her  nostrils  quivered;  then 
without  a  word  she  slipped  down-stairs,  glided  into  the 
swamp,  and  sped  away  to  the  island.  She  swung  across 
the  tree  and  a  low,  delighted  cry  bubbled  on  her  lips.  All 
the  rich,  black  ground  was  sprinkled  with  tender  green. 
She  bent  above  the  verdant  tenderness  and  kissed  it ;  then 
she  rushed  back,  bursting  into  the  room. 

"  It  's  come!    It 9s  come!  —  the  Silver  Fleece!  " 

Miss  Smith  was  startled. 

"  The  Silver  Fleece !  "  she  echoed  in  bewilderment. 

Zora  hesitated.     It  came  over  her  all  at  once  that  this 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

one  great  all-absorbing  thing  meant  nothing  to  the  gaunt 
tired-looking  woman  before  her. 

"  Would  Bles  care  if  I  told?  "  she  asked  doubtfully. 

"  No,"  Miss  Smith  ventured. 

And  then  the  girl  crouched  at  her  feet  and  told  the 
dream  and  the  story.  Many  factors  were  involved  that 
were  quite  foreign  to  the  older  woman's  nature  and  train 
ing.  The  recital  brought  to  her  New  England  mind 
many  questions  of  policy  and  propriety.  And  yet,  as 
she  looked  down  upon  the  dark  face,  hot  with  enthusiasm, 
it  all  seemed  somehow  more  than  right.  Slowly  and 
lightly  Miss  Smith  slipped  her  arm  about  Zora,  and 
nodded  and  smiled  a  perfect  understanding.  They  looked 
out  together  into  the  darkening  twilight. 

"  It  is  so  late  and  wet  and  you  're  tired  to-night  — 
don't  you  think  you  'd  better  sleep  in  your  little  room?  " 

Zora  sat  still.  She  thought  of  the  noisy  flaming  cabin 
and  the  dark  swamp;  but  a  contrasting  thought  of  the 
white  bed  made  her  timid,  and  slowly  she  shook  her  head. 
Nevertheless  Miss  Smith  led  her  to  the  room. 

"  Here  are  things  for  you  to  wear,"  she  pointed  out, 
opening  the  bureau,  "  and  here  is  the  bath-room."  She 
left  the  girl  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

In  time  Zora  came  to  stay  often  at  Miss  Smith's  cot 
tage,  and  to  learn  new  and  unknown  ways  of  living  and 
dressing.  She  still  refused  to  board,  for  that  would  cost 
more  than  she  could  pay  yet,  and  she  would  accept  no 
charity.  Gradually  an  undemonstrative  friendship 
sprang  up  between  the  pale  old  gray-haired  teacher  and 
the  dark  young  black-haired  girl.  Delicately,  too,  but 
gradually,  the  companionship  of  Bles  and  Zora  was 
guided  and  regulated.  Of  mornings  Zora  would  hurry 
through  her  lessons  and  get  excused  to  fly  to  the  swamp, 


THE  FLOWERING  OF  THE  FLEECE       123 

to  work  and  dream  alone.  At  noon  Bles  would  run  down, 
and  they  would  linger  until  he  must  hurry  back  to  din 
ner.  After  school  he  would  go  again,  working  while  she 
was  busy  in  Miss  Smith's  office,  and  returning  later, 
would  linger  awhile  to  tell  Zora  of  his  day  while  she 
busied  herself  with  her  little  tasks.  Saturday  mornings 
they  would  go  to  the  swamp  and  work  together,  and 
sometimes  Miss  Smith,  stealing  away  from  curious  eyes, 
would  come  and  sit  and  talk  with  them  as  they  toiled. 

In  those  days,  for  these  two  souls,  earth  came  very 
near  to  heaven.  Both  were  in  the  midst  of  that  mighty 
change  from  youth  to  womanhood  and  manhood.  Their 
manner  toward  each  other  by  degrees  grew  shyer  and 
more  thoughtful.  There  was  less  of  comradeship,  but  the 
little  meant  more.  The  rough  good  fellowship  was  silently 
put  aside ;  they  no  longer  lightly  clasped  hands ;  and  each 
at  times  wondered,  in  painful  self-consciousness,  if  the 
other  cared. 

Then  began,  too,  that  long  and  subtle  change  wherein 
a  soul,  until  now  unmindful  of  its  wrappings,  comes  sud 
denly  to  consciousness  of  body  and  clothes ;  when  it 
gropes  and  tries  to  adjust  one  with  the  other,  and  through 
them  to  give  to  the  inner  deeper  self,  finer  and  fuller  ex 
pression.  One  saw  it  easily,  almost  suddenly,  in  Alwyn's 
Sunday  suit,  vivid  neckties,  and  awkward  fads. 

Slower,  subtler,  but  more  striking  was  the  change  in 
Zora,  as  she  began  to  earn  bits  of  pin  money  in  the  office 
and  to  learn  to  sew.  Dresses  hung  straighter;  belts 
served  a  better  purpose ;  stockings  were  smoother ;  under 
wear  was  daintier.  Then  her  hair  —  that  great  dark 
mass  of  immovable  infinitely  curled  hair  —  began  to  be 
subdued  and  twisted  and  combed  until,  with  steady  pains 
and  study,  it  lay  in  thick  twisted  braids  about  her  velvet 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

forehead,  like  some  shadowed  halo.  All  this  came  much 
more  slowly  and  spasmodically  than  one  tells  it.  Few 
noticed  the  change  much;  none  noticed  all;  and  yet  there 
came  a  night  —  a  student's  social  —  when  with  a  certain 
suddenness  the  whole  school,  teachers  and  pupils,  realized 
the  newness  of  the  girl,  and  even  Bles  was  startled. 

He  had  bought  her  in  town,  at  Christmas  time,  a  pair 
of  white  satin  slippers,  partly  to  test  the  smallness  of  her 
feet  on  wnich  in  younger  days  he  had  rallied  her,  and 
partly  because  she  had  mentioned  a  possible  white  dress. 
They  were  a  cheap,  plain  pair  but  dainty,  and  they  fitted 
well. 

When  the  evening  came  and  the  students  were  march 
ing  and  the  teachers,  save  Miss  Smith,  were  sitting  rather 
primly  apart  and  commenting,  she  entered  the  room.  She 
was  a  little  late,  and  a  hush  greeted  her.  One  boy,  with 
the  inimitable  drawl  of  the  race,  pushed  back  his  ice 
cream  and  addressed  it  with  a  mournful  head-shake: 

"  Go  way,  honey,  yo'  los'  yo'  tas'e !  " 

The  dress  was  plain  and  fitted  every  curving  of  a 
healthy  girlish  form.  She  paused  a  moment  white-bodied 
and  white-limbed  but  dark  and  velvet-armed,  her  full  neck 
and  oval  head  rising  rich  and  almost  black  above,  with  its 
deep-lighted  eyes  and  crown  of  silent  darkling  hair. 

To  some,  such  a  revelation  of  grace  and  womanliness 
in  this  hoyden,  the  gentle  swelling  of  lankness  to  beauty, 
of  lowliness  to  shy  self-poise,  was  a  sudden  joy,  to  others 
a  mere  blindness.  Mary  Taylor  was  perplexed  and  in 
some  indefinite  way  amazed;  and  many  of  the  other 
teachers  saw  no  beauty,  only  a  strangeness  that  brought  a 
smile.  They  were  such  as  know  beauty  by  convention 
only,  and  find  it  lip-ringed,  hoop-skirted,  tattooed,  or 
corsetted,  as  time  and  place  decree. 


THE  FLOWERING  OF  THE  FLEECE      125 

The  change  in  Zora,  however,  had  been  neither  cat 
aclysmic  nor  revolutionary  and  it  was  yet  far  —  very 
far  —  from  complete.  She  still  ran  and  romped  in  the 
woods,  and  dreamed  her  dreams ;  she  still  was  passionately 
independent  and  "  queer."  Tendencies  merely  had  be 
come  manifest,  some  dominant.  She  would,  unhindered, 
develop  to  a  brilliant,  sumptuous  womanhood ;  proud,  con 
quering,  full-blooded,  and  deep  bosomed  —  a  passionate 
mother  of  men.  Herein  lay  all  her  early  wildness  and 
strangeness.  Herein  lay,  as  yet  half  hidden,  dimly  sensed 
and  all  unspoken,  the  power  of  a  mighty  all-compelling 
love  for  one  human  soul,  and,  through  it,  for  all  the  souls 
of  men.  All  this  lay  growing  and  developing;  but  as  yet 
she  was  still  a  girl,  with  a  new  shyness  and  comeliness  and 
a  bold,  searching  heart. 

In  the  field  of  the  Silver  Fleece  all  her  possibilities 
were  beginning  to  find  expression.  These  new-born  green 
things  hidden  far  down  in  the  swamp,  begotten  in  want 
and  mystery,  were  to  her  a  living  wonderful  fairy  tale 
come  true.  All  the  latent  mother  in  her  brooded  over 
them;  all  her  brilliant  fancy  wove  itself  about  them. 
They  were  her  dream-children,  and  she  tended  them  jeal 
ously;  they  were  her  Hope,  and  she  worshipped  them. 
When  the  rabbits  tried  the  tender  plants  she  watched  hours 
to  drive  them  off,  and  catching  now  and  then  a  pulsing 
pink-eyed  invader,  she  talked  to  it  earnestly: 

"  Brer  Rabbit  —  poor  little  Brer  Rabbit,  don't  you 
know  you  must  n't  eat  Zora's  cotton  ?  Naughty,  naughty 
Brer  Rabbit."  And  then  she  would  show  it  where  she  had 
gathered  piles  of  fragrant  weeds  for  it  and  its  fellows. 

The  golden  green  of  the  first  leaves  darkened,  and  the 
plants  sprang  forward  steadily.  Never  before  was  such 
a  magnificent  beginning,  a  full  month  ahead  of  other  cot- 


126    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

ton.  The  rain  swept  down  in  laughing,  bubbling  showers, 
and  laved  their  thirsty  souls,  and  Zora  held  her  beating 
breast  day  by  day  lest  it  rain  too  long  or  too  heavily. 
The  sun  burned  fiercely  upon  the  young  cotton  plants  as 
the  spring  hastened,  and  they  lifted  their  heads  in  darker, 
wilder  luxuriance;  for  the  time  of  hoeing  was  at  hand. 

These  days  were  days  of  alternate  hope  and  doubt  with 
Bles  Alwyn.  Strength  and  ambition  and  inarticulate  love 
were  fighting  within  him.  He  felt,  in  the  dark  thousands 
of  his  kind  about  him,  a  mighty  calling  to  deeds.  He  was 
becoming  conscious  of  the  narrowness  and  straightness  of 
his  black  world,  and  red  anger  flashed  in  him  ever  and 
again  as  he  felt  his  bonds.  His  mental  horizon  was 
broadening  as  he  prepared  for  the  college  of  next  year; 
he  was  faintly  grasping  the  wider,  fuller  world,  and  its 
thoughts  and  aspirations. 

But  beside  and  around  and  above  all  this,  like  subtle, 
permeating  ether,  was  —  Zora.  His  feelings  for  her  were 
not  as  yet  definite,  expressed,  or  grasped;  they  were 
rather  the  atmosphere  in  which  all  things  occurred  and 
were  felt  and  judged.  From  an  amusing  pastime  she  had 
come  to  be  a  companion  and  thought-mate;  and  now,  be 
yond  this,  insensibly  they  were  drifting  to  a  silenter, 
mightier  mingling  of  souls.  But  drifting,  merely  —  not 
arrived;  going  gently,  irresistibly,  but  not  yet  at  the 
realized  goal. 

He  felt  all  this  as  the  stirring  of  a  mighty  force,  but 
knew  not  what  he  felt.  The  teasing  of  his  fellows,  the 
common  love-gossip  of  the  school  yard,  seemed  far  dif 
ferent  from  his  plight.  He  laughed  at  it  and  indignantly 
denied  it.  Yet  he  was  uncomfortable,  restless,  unhappy. 
He  fancied  Zora  cared  less  for  his  company,  and  he  gave 
her  less,  and  then  was  puzzled  to  find  time  hanging  so 


THE  FLOWERING  OF  THE  FLEECE       127 

empty,  so  wretchedly  empty,  on  his  hands.  When  they 
were  together  in  these  days  they  found  less  to  talk  about, 
and  had  it  not  been  for  the  Silver  Fleece  which  in  magic 
wilfulness  opened  both  their  mouths,  they  would  have 
found  their  companionship  little  more  than  a  series  of 
awkward  silences.  Yet  in  their  silences,  their  walks,  and 
their  sittings  there  was  a  companionship,  a  glow,  a  satis 
faction,  as  came  to  them  nowhere  else  on  earth,  and  they 
wondered  at  it. 

They  were  both  wondering  at  it  this  morning  as  they 
watched  their  cotton.  It  had  seemingly  bounded  forward 
in  a  night  and  it  must  be  hoed  forthwith.  Yet,  hoeing 
was  murder  —  the  ruthless  cutting  away  of  tenderer 
plants  that  the  sturdier  might  thrive  the  more  and  grow. 

"  I  hate  it,  Bles,  don't  you?  " 

"Hate  what?" 

"  Killing  any  of  it ;  it 's  all  so  pretty." 

"  But  it  must  be,  so  that  what 's  left  will  be  prettier, 
or  at  least  more  useful." 

"  But  it  should  n't  be  so ;  everything  ought  to  have 
a  chance  to  be  beautiful  and  useful." 

"  Perhaps  it  ought  to  be  so,"  admitted  Bles,  "  but  it 
is  n't." 

"  Is  n't  it  so  —  anywhere?  " 

"  I  reckon  not.  Death  and  pain  pay  for  all  good 
things." 

She  hoed  away  silently,  hesitating  over  the  choice  of 
the  plants,  pondering  this  world-old  truth,  saddened  by 
its  ruthless  cruelty. 

"  Death  and  pain,"  she  murmured ;  "  what  a  price !  " 

Bles  leaned  on  his  hoe  and  considered.  It  had  not 
occurred  to  him  till  now  that  Zora  was  speaking  better 
and  better  English:  the  idioms  and  errors  were  dropping 


128    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

away;  they  had  not  utterly  departed,  however,  but  came 
crowding  back  in  moments  of  excitement.  At  other  times 
she  clothed  Miss  Smith's  clear-cut,  correct  speech  in 
softer  Southern  accents.  She  was  drifting  away  from 
him  in  some  intangible  way  to  an  upper  world  of  dress 
and  language  and  deportment,  and  the  new  thought  was 
pain  to  him. 

So  it  was  that  the  Fleece  rose  and  spread  and 
grew  to  its  wonderful  flowering;  and  so  these  two  chil 
dren  grew  with  it  into  theirs.  Zora  never  forgot  how 
they  found  the  first  white  flower  in  that  green  and  billow 
ing  sea,  nor  her  low  cry  of  pleasure  and  his  gay  shout 
of  joy.  Slowly,  wonderfully  the  flowers  spread  —  white, 
blue,  and  purple  bells,  hiding  timidly,  blazing  luxuriantly 
amid  the  velvet  leaves ;  until  one  day  —  it  was  after  a 
southern  rain  and  the  sunlight  was  twinkling  through 
the  morning  —  all  the  Fleece  was  in  flower  —  a  mighty 
swaying  sea,  darkling  rich  and  waving,  and  upon  it  flecks 
and  stars  of  white  and  purple  foam.  The  joy  of  the  two 
so  madly  craved  expression  that  they  burst  into  singing; 
not  the  wild  light  song  of  dancing  feet,  but  a  low,  sweet 
melody  of  her  fathers'  fathers,  whereunto  Alwyn's  own 
deep  voice  fell  fitly  in  minor  cadence. 

Miss  Smith  and  Miss  Taylor,  who  were  sorting  the 
mail,  heard  them  singing  as  they  came  up  out  of  the 
swamp.  Miss  Taylor  looked  at  them,  then  at  Miss  Smith. 

But  Miss  Smith  sat  white  and  rigid  with  the  first 
opened  letter  in  her  hand. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  PROMISE 

MISS  SMITH  sat  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands 
while  the  tears  trickled  silently  through  her  thin 
fingers.  Before  her  lay  the  letter,  read  a  dozen 
times  : 

"  Old  Mrs.  Gray  has  been  to  see  me,  and  she  has  an 
nounced  her  intention  of  endowing  five  colored  schools, 
yours  being  one.  She  asked  if  $500,000  would  do  it.  She 
has  plenty  of  money,  so  I  told  her  $750,000  would  be 
better  —  $150,000  apiece.  She  's  arranging  for  a  Board 
of  Trust,  etc.  You  '11  probably  hear  from  her  soon. 
You  've  been  so  worried  about  expenses  that  I  thought 
I  'd  send  this  word  on ;  I  knew  you  'd  be  glad." 

Glad?  Dear  God,  how  flat  the  word  fell!  For  thirty 
years  she  had  sown  the  seed,  planting  her  life-blood  in 
this  work,  that  had  become  the  marrow  of  her  soul. 

Successful?  No,  it  had  not  been  successful;  but  it  had 
been  human.  Through  yonder  doorway  had  trooped  an 
army  of  hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  bright  and  dull,  light 
and  dark,  eager  and  sullen  faces.  There  had  been  good 
and  bad,  honest  and  deceptive,  frank  and  furtive.  Some 
had  caught,  kindled  and  flashed  to  ambition  and  achieve 
ment  ;  some,  glowing  dimly,  had  plodded  on  in  slow,  dumb 
faithful  work  worth  while ;  and  yet  others  had  suddenly  ex- 

[129] 


130    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

ploded,  hurtling  human  fragments  to  heaven  and  to  hell. 
Around  this  school  home,  as  around  the  centre  of  some 
little  universe,  had  whirled  the  sorrowful,  sordid,  laugh 
ing,  pulsing  drama  of  a  world :  birth  pains,  and  the  stupor 
of  death;  hunger  and  pale  murder;  the  riot  of  thirst  and 
the  orgies  of  such  red  and  black  cabins  as  Elspeth's, 
crouching  in  the  swamp. 

She  groaned  as  she  read  of  the  extravagances  of  the 
world  and  saw  her  own  vanishing  revenues ;  but  the  funds 
continued  to  dwindle  until  Sarah  Smith  asked  herself: 
"What  will  become  of  this  school  when  I  die?"  With 
trembling  fingers  she  had  sat  down  to  figure  how  many 
teachers  must  be  dropped  next  year,  when  her  brother's 
letter  came,  and  she  slipped  to  her  knees  and  prayed. 

Mrs.  Grey's  decision  was  due  in  no  little  way  to  Mary 
Taylor's  reports.  Slowly  but  surely  the  girl  had  begun 
to  think  that  she  had  found  herself  in  this  new  world. 
She  would  never  be  attuned  to  it  thoroughly,  for  she 
was  set  for  different  music.  The  veil  of  color  and  race 
still  hung  thickly  between  her  and  her  pupils ;  and  yet 
she  seemed  to  see  some  points  of  penetration.  No  one 
could  meet  daily  a  hundred  or  more  of  these  light-hearted, 
good-natured  children  without  feeling  drawn  to  them. 
No  one  could  cross  the  thresholds  of  the  cabins  and  not 
see  the  old  and  well-known  problems  of  life  and  striving. 
More  and  more,  therefore,  the  work  met  Miss  Taylor's 
approval  and  she  told  Mrs.  Grey  so. 

At  the  same  time  Mary  Taylor  had  come  to  some  other 
definite  conclusions :  she  believed  it  wrong  to  encourage 
the  ambitions  of  these  children  to  any  great  extent;  she 
believed  they  should  be  servants  and  farmers,  content  to 
work  under  present  conditions  until  those  conditions  could 
be  changed;  and  she  believed  that  the  local  white  aristoc- 


THE  PROMISE 

racy,    helped    by    Northern    philanthropy,    should    take 
charge  of  such  gradual  changes. 

These  conclusions  she  did  not  pretend  to  have  origi 
nated;  but  she  adopted  them  from  reading  and  conver 
sation,  after  hesitating  for  a  year  before  such  puzzling 
contradictions  as  Bles  Alwyn  and  Harry  Cresswell.  For 
her  to  conclude  to  treat  Bles  Alwyn  as  a  man  despite  his 
color  was  as  impossible  as  to  think  Mr.  Cresswell  a 
criminal.  Some  compromise  was  imperative  which  would 
save  her  the  pleasure  of  Mr.  Cresswell's  company  and  at 
the  same  time  leave  open  a  way  of  fulfilling  the  world's 
duty  to  this  black  boy.  She  thought  she  had  found  this 
compromise  and  she  wrote  Mrs.  Grey  suggesting  a  chain 
of  endowed  Negro  schools  under  the  management  of 
trustees  composed  of  Northern  business  men  and  local 
Southern  whites.  Mrs.  Grey  acquiesced  gladly  and  an 
nounced  her  plan,  eventually  writing  Miss  Smith  of  her 
decision  "  to  second  her  noble  efforts  in  helping  the  poor 
colored  people,"  and  she  hoped  to  have  the  plan  under 
way  before  next  fall. 

The  sharpness  of  Miss  Smith's  joy  did  not  let  her  dwell 
on  the  proposed  "  Board  of  Trust  " ;  of  course,  it  would 
be  a  board  of  friends  of  the  school. 

She  sat  in  her  office  looking  out  across  the  land.  School 
had  closed  for  the  year  and  Bles  with  the  carryall  was 
just  taking  Miss  Taylor  to  the  train  with  her  trunk  and 
bags.  Far  up  the  road  she  could  see  dotted  here  and 
there  the  little  dirty  cabins  of  Cresswell's  tenants  —  the 
Cresswell  domain  that  lay  like  a  mighty  hand  around  the 
school,  ready  at  a  word  to  squeeze  its  life  out.  Only 
yonder,  to  the  eastward,  lay  the  way  out;  the  five  hun 
dred  acres  of  the  Tolliver  plantation,  which  the  school 
needed  so  sadly  for  its  farm  and  community.  But  the 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

owner  was  a  hard  and  ignorant  white  man,  hating  "  nig 
gers  "  only  a  shade  more  than  he  hated  white  aristocrats 
of  the  Cresswell  type.  He  had  sold  the  school  its  first 
land  to  pique  the  Cresswells;  but  he  would  not  sell  any 
more,  she  was  sure,  even  now  when  the  promise  of  wealth 
faced  the  school. 

She  lay  back  and  closed  her  eyes  and  fell  lightly 
asleep.  As  she  slept  an  old  woman  came  toiling  up  the 
hill  northward  from  the  school,  and  out  of  the  eastward 
spur  of  the  Cresswell  barony.  She  was  fat  and  black, 
hooded  and  aproned,  with  great  round  head  and  massive 
bosom.  Her  face  was  dull  and  heavy  and  homely,  her 
old  eyes  sorrowful.  She  moved  swiftly,  carrying  a  basket 
on  her  arm.  Opposite  her,  to  the  southward,  but  too 
far  for  sight,  an  old  man  came  out  of  the  lower  Cress- 
well  place,  skirting  the  swamp.  He  was  tall,  black,  and 
gaunt,  part  bald  with  tufted  hair,  and  a  cowed  and  furtive 
look  was  in  his  eyes.  One  leg  was  crippled,  and  he  hobbled 
painfully. 

Up  the  road  to  the  eastward  that  ran  past  the  school, 
with  the  morning  sun  at  his  back,  strode  a  young  man, 
yellow,  crisp-haired,  strong-faced,  with  darkly  knit  brows. 
He  greeted  Bles  and  the  teacher  coldly,  and  moved  on  in 
nervous  haste.  A  woman,  hurrying  out  of  the  westward 
swamp  up  the  path  that  led  from  Elspeth's,  saw  him  and 
shrank  back  hastily.  She  turned  quickly  into  the  swamp 
and  waited,  looking  toward  the  school.  The  old  woman 
hurried  into  the  back  gate  just  as  the  old  man  appeared 
to  the  southward  on  the  road.  The  young  man  greeted 
him  cordially  and  they  stopped  a  moment  to  talk,  while 
the  hiding  woman  watched. 

"  Howdy,  Uncle  Jim." 

"Howdy,  son.     Hit's  hot,  ain't  it?     How  is  you?" 


THE  PROMISE  133 

"  Tolerable,  how  are  you  ?  " 

"  Poorly,  son,  poorly  —  and  worser  in  mind.  I'se  goin' 
up  to  talk  to  old  Miss." 

"  So  am  I,  but  I  just  see  Aunt  Rachel  going  in.  We  'd 
better  wait." 

Miss  Smith  started  up  at  the  timid  knocking,  and 
rubbed  her  eyes.  It  was  long  since  she  had  slept  in  the 
daytime  and  she  was  annoyed  at  such  laziness.  She 
opened  the  back  door  and  led  the  old  woman  to  the  office. 

"  Now,  what  have  you  got  there  ?  "  she  demanded,  ey 
ing  the  basket. 

"  Just  a  little  chicken  fo'  you  and  a  few  aigs." 

"  Oh,  you  are  so  thoughtful !  "  Sarah  Smith's  was  a 
grateful  heart. 

"  Go  'long  now  —  hit  ain't  a  thing." 

Then  came  a  pause,  the  old  woman  sliding  into  the 
proffered  seat,  while  over  her  genial,  dimpled  smile  there 
dropped  a  dull  veil  of  care.  Her  eyes  shifted  uneasily. 
Miss  Smith  tried  not  to  notice  the  change. 

"  Well,  are  you  all  moved,  Aunt  Rachel?  "  she  inquired 
cheerfully. 

"  No'm,  and  we  ain't  gwirie  to  move." 

"  But  I  thought  it  was  all  arranged." 

"  It  was,"  gloomily,  "  but  de  ole  Gunnel,  he  won't 
let  us  go." 

The  listener  was  instantly  sympathetic.  "  Why  not?  " 
she  asked. 

"  He  says  we  owes  him." 

"But  didn't  you  settle  at  Christmas?" 

"  Yas'm ;  but  when  he  found  we  was  goin'  away,  he 
looked  up  some  more  debts." 

"How  much?" 

"  I   don't  know   'zactly  —  more  'n   a   hundred   dollars. 


184    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

Den  de  boys  done  got  in  dat  trouble,  and  he  paid  their 
fines." 

"  What  was  the  trouble?  " 

"  Well,  one  was  a-gambling,  and  the  other  struck  the 
overseer  what  was  a-whippin'  him." 

"  Whipping  him  !  "  —  in  horrified  exclamation,  quite 
as  much  at  Aunt  Rachel's  matter-of-fact  way  of  regard 
ing  the  matter  as  at  the  deed  itself. 

"  Yas'm.  He  did  n't  do  his  work  right  and  he  whipped 
him.  I  speck  he  needed  it." 

"  But  he  's  a  grown  man,"  Miss  Smith  urged  earnestly. 

"  Yas'm ;  he  's  twenty  now,  and  big." 

"  Whipped  him !  "  Miss  Smith  repeated.  "  And  so 
you  can't  leave?  " 

"  No'm,  he  say  he  '11  sell  us  out  and  put  us  in  de  chain- 
gang  if  we  go.  The  boys  is  plumb  mad,  but  I'se  a-pleadin' 
with  'em  not  to  do  nothin'  rash." 

"  But  —  but  I  thought  they  had  already  started  to 
work  a  crop  on  the  Tolliver  place?  " 

"  Yas'm,  dey  had ;  but,  you  see,  dey  were  arrested, 
and  then  Gunnel  Cresswell  took  'em  and  'lowed  they 
could  n't  leave  his  place.  OP  man  Tolliver  was  powerful 
mad." 

"  Why,  Aunt  Rachel,  it 's  slavery !  "  cried  the  lady  in 
dismay.  Aunt  Rachel  did  not  offer  to  dispute  her 
declaration. 

"  Yas'm,  hit 's  slavery,"  she  agreed.  "I  hates  it  mighty 
bad,  too,  'cause  I  wanted  de  little  chillens  in  school;  but 
—  "  The  old  woman  broke  down  and  sobbed. 

A  knocking  came  at  the  door;  hastily  wiping  her  eyes 
Aunt  Rachel  rose. 

"  I  '11  —  I  '11  see  what  I  can  do,  Aunt  Rachel  —  I  must 
do  something,"  murmured  Miss  Smith  hastily,  as  the 


THE  PROMISE  135 

woman  departed,  and  an  old  black  man  came  limping  in. 
Miss  Smith  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"  I  begs  pardon,  Mistress  —  I  begs  pardon.  Good- 
morning. 

"  Good-morning  —  "  she  hesitated. 

"  Sykes  —  Jim  Sykes  —  that 's  me." 

"  Yes,  I  've  heard  of  you,  Mr.  Sykes ;  you  live  over 
south  of  the  swamp." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  that 's  me ;  and  I'se  got  a  little  shack  dar 
and  a  bit  of  land  what  I'se  trying  to  buy." 

"Of  Colonel  Cresswell?  " 

"  Yas'm,  of  de  Gunnel." 

"  And  how  long  have  you  been  buying  it  ?  " 

"  Going  on  ten  year  now ;  and  dat's  what  I  comes  to 
ask  you  about." 

"  Goodness  me !  And  how  much  have  you  paid  a 
year?  " 

"  I,  gen'rally  pays  'bout  three  bales  of  cotton  a  year." 

"  Does  he  furnish  you  rations  ?  " 

"  Only  sugar  and  coffee  and  a  little  meat  now  and 
then." 

"  What  does  it  amount  to  a  year  ?  " 

"  I  does  n't  rightly  know  —  but  I  'se  got  some  papers 
here." 

Miss  Smith  looked  them  over  and  sighed.  It  was  the 
same  old  tale  of  blind  receipts  for  money  "  on  account  " 
—  no  items,  no  balancing.  By  his  help  she  made  out 
that  last  year  his  total  bill  at  Cresswell's  store  was 
perhaps  forty  dollars. 

"  An'  last  year's  bill  was  bigger  'n  common  'cause  I 
hurt  my  leg  working  at  the  gin  and  had  to  have  some 
medicine." 

"  Why,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  Mr.  Sykes,  you  've  paid 


136   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

•  Cresswell  about  a  thousand  dollars  in  the  last  ten  years. 
How  large  is  your  place  ?  " 

"  About  twenty  acres." 

"  And  what  were  you  to  pay  for  it?  " 

"  Four  hundred." 

"  Have  you  got  the  deed  ?  " 

"  Yes'm,  but  I  ain't  finished  paying  yet ;  de  Gunnel 
say  as  how  I  owes  him  two  hundred  dollars  still,  and 
I  can't  see  it.  Dat  's  why  I  come  over  here  to  talk  wid 
you." 

"Where  is  the  deed?" 

fHe  handed  it  to  her  and  her  heart  sank.  It  was  no 
deed,  but  a  complicated  contract  binding  the  tenant  hand 
and  foot  to  the  landlord.  She  sighed,  he  watching  her 
eagerly. 

"  I'se  getting  old,"  he  explained,  "  and  I  ain't  got  no 
body  to  take  care  of  me.  I  can't  work  as  I  once  could, 
and  de  overseers  dey  drives  me  too  hard.  I  wants  a 
little  home  to  die  in." 

Miss  Smith's  throat  swelled.  She  could  n't  tell  him  that 
he  would  never  get  one  at  the  present  rate;  she  only 
said: 

"  I  '11  —  look  this  up.  You  come  again  next  Satur 
day." 

Then  sadly  she  watched  the  ragged  old  slave  hobble 
away  with  his  cherished  "  papers."  He  greeted  the  young 
man  at  the  gate  and  passed  out,  while  the  latter  walked 
briskly  up  to  the  door  and  knocked. 

"Why,  how  do  you  do,  Robert?" 

"How  do  you  do,  Miss  Smith?" 

"  Well,  are  you  getting  things  in  shape  so  as  to  enter 
school  early  next  year?  " 

Robert  looked  embarrassed. 


THE  PROMISE  137 

"  That 's  what  I  came  to  tell  you,  Miss  Smith.  Mr. 
Cresswell  has  offered  me  forty  acres  of  good  land." 

Miss   Smith  looked  disheartened. 

*'  Robert,  here  you  are  almost  finished,  and  my  heart 
is  set  on  your  going  to  Atlanta  University  and  finishing 
college.  With  your  fine  voice  and  talent  for  drawing  — 

A  dogged  looked  settled  on  Robert's  young  bright 
face,  and  the  speaker  paused. 

"  What 's  the  use,  Miss  Smith  —  what  opening  is  there 
for  a  —  a  nigger  with  an  education  ?  " 

Miss  Smith  was  shocked. 

"  WThy  —  why,  every  chance,"  she  protested.  "  And 
where  there  's  none  make  a  chance !  " 

"  Miss  Taylor  says  "  —  Miss  Smith's  heart  sank :  how 
often  had  she  heard  that  deadening  phrase  in  the  last 
year !  —  "  that  there  's  no  use.  That  farming  is  the  only 
thing  we  ought  to  try  to  do,  and  I  reckon  she  thinks 
there  ain't  much  chance  even  there." 

"  Robert,  farming  is  a  noble  calling.  Whether  you  're 
suited  to  it  or  not,  I  don't  yet  know,  but  I  'd  like  nothing 
better  than  to  see  you  settled  here  in  a  decent  home  with 
a  family,  running  a  farm.  But,  Robert,  farming  does  n't 
call  for  less  intelligence  than  other  things ;  it  calls  for 
more.  It  is  because  the  world  thinks  any  training  good 
enough  for  a  farmer  that  the  Southern  farmer  is  to-day 
practically  at  the  mercy  of  his  keener  and  more  intelli 
gent  fellows.  And  of  all  people,  Robert,  your  people 
need  trained  intelligence  to  cope  with  this  problem  of 
farming  here.  Without  intelligence  and  training  and  some 
capital  it  is  the  wildest  nonsense  to  think  you  can  lead 
your  people  out  of  slavery.  Look  round  you."  She  told 
him  of  the  visitors.  "  Are  they  not  hard  working  honest 
people  ?  " 


138    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Yet  they  are  slaves  —  dumb  driven  cattle." 

"  But  they  have  no  education." 

"  And  you  have  a  smattering ;  therefore  are  ready  to 
pit  yourself  against  the  organized  plantation  system 
without  capital  or  experience.  Robert,  you  may  suc 
ceed;  you  may  find  your  landlord  honest  and  the  way 
clear ;  but  my  advice  to  you  is  —  finish  your  education, 
develop  your  talents,  and  then  come  to  your  life  work  a 
full-fledged  man  and  not  a  half-ignorant  boy." 

"  I  '11  think  of  it,"  returned  the  boy  soberly.  "  I 
reckon  you  're  right.  I  know  Miss  Taylor  do  n't  think 
much  of  us.  But  I  'm  tired  of  waiting;  I  want  to  get  to 
work." 

Miss  Smith  laid  a  kindly  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  I  've  been  waiting  thirty  years,  Robert,"  she  said,  with 
feeling,  and  he  hung  his  head. 

"  I  wanted  to  talk  about  it,"  he  awkwardly  responded, 
turning  slowly  away.  But  Miss  Smith  stopped  him. 

"  Robert,  where  is  the  land  Cresswell  offers  you?  " 

"  It 's  on  the  Tolliver  place." 

"The  Tolliver  place?" 

"  Yes,  he  is  going  to  buy  it." 

Miss  Smith  dismissed  the  boy  absently  and  sat  down. 
The  crisis  seemed  drawing  near.  She  had  not  dreamed 
the  Tolliver  place  was  for  sale.  The  old  man  must  be 
hard  pressed  to  sell  to  the  Cresswells. 

She  started  up.  Why  not  go  see  him?  Perhaps  a 
mortgage  on  the  strength  of  the  endowment?  It  was 
dangerous  —  but  — 

She  threw  a  veil  over  her  hair,  and  opened  the  door. 
A  woman  stood  there,  who  shrank  and  cowered,  as  if 


THE  PROMISE  139 

used  to  blows.  Miss  Smith  eyed  her  grimly,  then  slowly 
stepped  back. 

"  Come  in,"  she  commanded  briefly,  motioning  the 
woman  to  a  chair. 

But  she  stood,  a  pathetic  figure,  faded,  worn,  yet  with 
unmistakable  traces  of  beauty  in  her  golden  face  and 
soft  brown  hair.  Miss  Smith  contemplated  her  sadly. 
Here  was  her  most  haunting  failure,  this  girl  whom  she 
first  had  seen  twelve  years  ago  in  her  wonderful  girlish 
comeliness.  She  had  struggled  and  fought  for  her,  but 
the  forces  of  the  devil  had  triumphed.  She  caught 
glimpses  of  her  now  and  then,  but  to-day  was  the  first 
time  she  had  spoken  to  her  for  ten  years.  She  saw  the 
tears  that  gathered  but  did  not  fall;  then  her  hands 
quivered. 

"  Bertie,"  she  began  brokenly.  The  girl  shivered,  but 
stood  aloof. 

"Miss  Smith,"  she  said.  "  No  —  don't  talk  — I'm 
bad  —  but  I  've  got  a  little  girl,  Miss  Smith,  ten  years 
old,  and  —  and  —  I  'm  afraid  for  her ;  I  want  you  to 
take  her." 

"  I  have  no  place  for  one  so  young.  And  why  are  you 
afraid  for  her  ?  " 

"  The  men  there  are  beginning  to  notice  her." 

"Where?" 

"  At  Elspeth's." 

"  Do  you  stay  there  now  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Why?" 

"  He  wants  me  to." 

"  Must  you  do  as  he  wants  ?  " 

"  Yes.     But  I  want  the  child  —  different." 


140    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  Don't  you  want  to  be  different  ?  " 

The  woman  quivered  again  but  she  answered  steadily: 
"  No." 

Miss  Smith  sank  into  a  chair  and  moistened  her  dry 
lips. 

"  Elspeth's  is  an  awful  place,"  she  affirmed  solemnly. 

"  Yes." 

"And  Zora?" 

"  She  is  not  there  much  now,  she  stays  away." 

"But  if  she  escapes,  why  not  you?" 

"  She  wants  to  escape." 

"And  you?" 

"  I  don't  want  to." 

This  stubborn  depravity  was  so  distressing  that  Sarah 
Smith  was  at  an  utter  loss  what  to  say  or  do. 

"  I  can  do  nothing  —   '  she  began. 

"  For  me,"  the  woman  quickly  replied ;  "  I  don't  ask 
anything ;  but  for  the  child,  —  she  is  n't  to  blame." 

The  older  woman  wavered. 

"  Won't  you  try  ?  "  pleaded  the  younger. 

"Yes  —  I'll  try,  I'll  try;  I  am  trying  all  the  time, 
but  there  are  more  things  than  my  weak  strength  can 
do.  Good-bye." 

Miss  Smith  stood  a  long  time  in  the  doorway,  watch 
ing  the  fading  figure  and  vaguely  trying  to  remember  what 
it  was  that  she  had  started  to  do,  when  the  sharp  staccato 
step  of  a  mule  drew  her  attention  to  a  rider  who  stopped 
at  the  gate.  It  was  her  neighbor,  Tolliver  —  a  gaunt, 
'yellow-faced  white  man,  ragged,  rough,  and  unkempt ; 
one  of  the  poor  whites  who  had  struggled  up  and  failed. 
He  spent  no  courtesy  on  the  "  nigger  "  teacher,  but  sat 
in  his  saddle  and  called  her  to  the  gate,  and  she  went. 

"  Say,"  he  roughly  opened  up,  "  I  've  got  to  sell  some 


THE  PROMISE 

land,  and  them  damn  Cresswells  are  after  it.  You  can 
have  it  for  five  thousand  dollars  if  you  git  the  cash  in  a 
week."  With  a  muttered  oath  he  rode  abruptly  off;  but 
not  before  she  had  seen  the  tears  in  his  eyes. 

All  night  Sarah  Smith  lay  thinking,  and  all  day  she 
thought  and  dreamed.  Toward  dark  she  walked  slowly 
out  the  gate  and  up  the  highway  toward  the  Cresswell 
oaks.  She  had  never  been  within  the  gates  before,  and 
she  looked  about  thoughtfully.  The  great  trees  in  their 
regular  curving  rows  must  have  been  planted  more  than 
half  a  century  ago.  The  lawn  was  well  tended  and  the 
flowers.  Yes,  there  were  signs  of  taste  and  wealth.  "  But 
it  was  built  on  a  moan,"  cried  Miss  Smith  to  herself, 
passionately,  and  she  would  not  look  round  any  more, 
but  stared  straight  ahead  where  she  saw  old  Colonel  Cress- 
well  smoking  and  reading  on  the  verandah. 

The  Colonel  saw  her,  too,  and  was  uneasy,  for  he  knew 
that  Miss  Smith  had  a  sharp  tongue  and  a  most  dis 
concerting  method  of  argument,  which  he,  as  a  Southern 
gentleman,  courteous  to  all  white  females,  even  if  they 
did  eat  with  "  niggers,"  could  not  properly  answer.  He 
received  her  with  courtesy,  offered  a  chair,  laid  aside  his 
cigar,  and  essayed  some  general  remarks  on  cotton 
weather.  But  Miss  Smith  plunged  into  her  subject: 

"  Colonel  Cresswell,  I  'm  thinking  of  raising  some 
money  from  a  mortgage  on  our  school  property." 

The  Colonel's  face  involuntarily  lighted  up.  He 
thought  he  saw  the  beginning  of  the  end  of  an  institution 
which  had  been  a  thorn  in  his  flesh  ever  since  Tolliver, 
in  a  fit  of  rage,  had  sold  land  for  a  Negro  school. 

"  H'm,"  he  reflected  deprecatingly,  wiping  his  brow. 

"  I  need  some  ready  money,"  she  continued,  "  to  keep 
from  curtailing  our  work." 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"Indeed?" 

"  I  have  good  prospects  in  a  year  or  so  "  —  the  Colonel 
looked  up  sharply,  but  said  nothing  —  "  and  so  I  thought 
of  a  mortgage." 

"  Money  is  pretty  tight,"  was  the  Colonel's  first  ob 
jection. 

"  The  land  is  worth,  you  know,  at  least  fifty  dollars 
an  acre.5' 

"  Not  more  than  twenty-five  dollars,  I  fear." 

"  Why,  you  wanted  seventy-five  dollars  for  poorer  land 
last  year!  We  have  two  hundred  acres."  It  was  not  for 
nothing  that  this  lady  had  been  born  in  New  England. 

"  I  would  n't  reckon  it  as  worth  more  than  five  thou 
sand  dollars,"  insisted  the  Colonel. 

"  And   ten    thousand   dollars    for    improvements." 

But  the  Colonel  arose.  "  You  had  better  talk  to  the 
directors  of  the  Jefferson  Bank,"  he  said  politely.  "  They 
may  accommodate  you  —  how  much  would  you  want?" 

"  Five  thousand  dollars,"  Miss  Smith  replied.  Then 
she  hesitated.  That  would  buy  the  land,  to  be  sure;  but 
money  was  needed  to  develop  and  run  it ;  to  install  tenants ; 
and  then,  too,  for  new  teachers.  But  she  said  nothing 
more,  and,  nodding  to  his  polite  bow,  departed.  Colonel 
Cresswell  had  noticed  her  hesitation,  and  thought  of  it 
as  he  settled  to  his  cigar  again. 

Bles  Alwyn  arose  next  morning  and  examined  the  sky 
critically.  He  feared  rain.  The  season  had  been  quite 
wet  enough,  particularly  down  on  the  swamp  land,  and 
but  yesterday  Bles  had  viewed  his  dykes  with  apprehen 
sion  for  the  black  pool  scowled  about  them.  He  dared 
not  think  what  a  long  heavy  rain  might  do  to  the  wonderful 
island  of  cotton  which  now  stood  fully  five  feet  high,  with 


THE  PROMISE  143 

flowers  and  squares  and  budding  bolls.  It  might  not  rain, 
but  the  safest  thing  would  be  to  work  at  those  dykes,  so 
he  started  for  spade  and  hoe.  He  heard  Miss  Smith  call 
ing,  however. 

"Bles  —  hitch  up!" 

He  was  vexed.  "  Are  you  —  in  a  hurry,  Miss  'Smith?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  sne  replied,  with  unmistakable  positiveness. 

He  started  off,  and  hesitated.  "  Miss  Smith,  would 
Jim  do  to  drive?  " 

"  No,"  sharply.  "  I  want  you  particularly."  At 
another  time  she  might  have  observed  his  anxiety,  but 
to-day  she  was  agitated.  She  knew  she  was  taking  a  crit 
ical  step. 

Slowly  Bles  hitched  up.  After  all  it  might  not  rain, 
he  argued  as  they  jogged  toward  town.  In  silence  they 
rode  on.  Bles  kept  looking  at  the  skies.  The  south  was 
getting  darker  and  darker.  It  might  rain.  It  might 
rain  only  an  hour  or  so,  but,  suppose  it  should  rain  a 
day  —  two  days  —  a  week? 

Miss  Smith  was  looking  at  her  own  skies  and  despite 
the  promised  sunrise  they  loomed  darkly.  Five  thousand 
was  needed  for  the  land  and  at  least  another  thousand 
for  repairs.  Two  thousand  would  "  buy  "  a  half  dozen 
desirable  tenants  by  paying  their  debts  to  their  present 
landlords.  Then  two  thousand  would  be  wanted  for  new 
teachers  and  a  carpenter  shop  —  ten  thousand  dollars ! 

It  was  a  great  temptation.  And  yet,  once  in  the  hands 
of  these  past-masters  of  debt-manipulation,  would  her 
school  be  safe?  Suppose,  after  all,  this  Grey  gift  —  but 
she  caught  her  breath  sharply  just  as  a  wet  splash  of 
rain  struck  upon  her  forehead.  No.  God  could  not  be 


144    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

so  cruel.  She  pushed  her  bonnet  back:  how  good  and 
cool  the  water  felt!  But  on  Bles  as  he  raised  the  buggy 
top  it  felt  hot  and  fiery. 

He  felt  the  coming  of  some  great  calamity,  the  end  of 
a  dream.  This  rain  might  stay  for  days;  it  looked  like 
such  a  downpour;  and  that  would  mean  the  end  of  the 
Silver  Fleece;  the  end  of  Zora's  hopes;  the  end  of  every 
thing.  He  gulped  in  despairing  anger  and  hit  the  staid 
old  horse  the  smartest  tap  she  had  known  all  summer. 

"Why,  Bles,  what's  the  matter?"  called  Miss  Smith, 
as  the  horse  started  forward.  He  murmured  something 
about  getting  wet  and  drew  up  at  the  Toombsville  bank. 

Miss  Smith  was  invited  politely  into  the  private  parlor. 
She  explained  her  business.  The  President  was  there  and 
Colonel  Cresswell  and  one  other  local  director. 

"  I  have  come  for  a  mortgage.  Our  land  is,  as  you 
know,  gentlemen,  worth  at  least  ten  thousand  dollars; 
the  buildings  cost  fifteen  thousand  dollars;  our  property 
is,  therefore,  conservatively  valued  at  twenty-five  thou 
sand  dollars.  Now  I  want  to  mortgage  it  for  "  —  she 
hesitated  —  "  five  thousand  dollars." 

Colonel  Cresswell  was  silent,  but  the  president  said : 

"Money  is  rather  scarce  just  now,  Miss  Smith;  but 
it  happens  that  I  have  ten  thousand  dollars  on  hand, 
which  we  prefer,  however,  to  loan  in  one  lump  sum.  Now, 
if  the  security  were  ample,  I  think  perhaps  you  might 
get  this  ten  thousand  dollars." 

Miss  Smith  grew  white;  it  was  the  sum  she  wanted. 
She  tried  to  escape  the  temptation,  yet  the  larger  amount 
was  more  than  twice  as  desirable  to  her  as  the  smaller, 
and  she  knew  that  they  knew  it.  They  were  trying  to 
tempt  her ;  they  wanted  as  firm  a  hold  on  the  school  prop 
erty  as  possible.  And  yet,  why  should  she  hesitate?  It 


THE  PROMISE  145 

was  a  risk,  but  the  returns  would  be  enormous  —  she 
must  do  it.  Besides,  there  was  the  endowment;  it  was 
certain ;  yes  —  she  felt  forced  to  close  the  bargain. 

"  Very  well,"  she  declared  her  decision,  and  they  handed 
her  the  preliminary  papers.  She  took  the  pen  and 
glanced  at  Mr.  Cresswell;  he  was  smiling  slightly,  but 
nevertheless  she  signed  her  name  grimly,  in  a  large  round 
hand,  "  Sarah  Smith." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MRS.  GREY  GIVES  A  DINNER 

THE  Hon.  Charles  Smith,  Miss  Sarah's  brother, 
was  walking  swiftly  uptown  from  Mr.  Easterly's 
Wall  Street  office  and  his  face  was  pale.  At  last 
the  Cotton  Combine  was  to  all  appearances  an  assured 
fact  and  he  was  slated  for  the  Senate.  The  price  he  had 
paid  was  high :  he  was  to  represent  the  interests  of  the  new 
trust  and  sundry  favorable  measures  were  already  drafted 
and  reposing  in  the  safe  of  the  combine's  legal  depart 
ment.  Among  others  was  one  relating  to  child  labor, 
another  that  would  effect  certain  changes  in  the  tariff, 
and  a  proposed  law  providing  for  a  cotton  bale  of  a 
shape  and  dimensions  different  from  the  customary  —  the 
last  constituting  a  particularly  clever  artifice  which, 
under  the  guise  of  convenience  in  handling,  would  neces 
sitate  the  installation  of  entirely  new  gin  and  compress 
machinery,  to  be  supplied,  of  course,  by  the  trust. 

As  Mr.  Smith  drew  near  Mrs.  Grey's  Murray  Hill 
residence  his  face  had  melted  to  a  cynical  smile.  After 
all  why  should  he  care?  He  had  tried  independence  and 
philanthropy  and  failed.  Why  should  he  not  be  as  other 
men?  He  had  seen  many  others  that  very  day  swallow 
the  golden  bait  and  promise  everything.  They  were 
gentlemen.  Why  should  he  pose  as  better  than  his  fel- 

[146  ] 


MRS.  GREY  GIVES  A  DINNER  147 

lows?  There  was  young  Cresswell.  Did  his  aristocratic 
air  prevent  his  succumbing  to  the  lure  of  millions  and 
promising  the  influence  of  his  father  and  the  whole 
Farmer's  League  to  the  new  project?  Mr.  Smith 
snapped  his  fingers  and  rang  the  bell.  The  door  opened 
softly.  The  dark  woodwork  of  the  old  English  wains 
coting  glowed  with  the  crimson  flaming  of  logs  in  the 
wide  fireplace.  There  was  just  the  touch  of  early  autumn 
chill  in  the  air  without,  that  made  both  the  fire  and  the 
table  with  its  soft  linen,  gold  and  silver  plate,  and  twink 
ling  glasses  a  warming,  satisfying  sight. 

Mrs.  Grey  was  a  portly  woman,  inclined  to  think  much 
of  her  dinner  and  her  clothes,  both  of  which  were  al 
ways  rich  and  costly.  She  was  not  herself  a  notably 
intelligent  woman;  she  greatly  admired  intelligence  or 
whatever  looked  to  her  like  intelligence  in  others.  Her 
money,  too,  was  to  her  an  ever  worrying  mystery  and 
surprise,  which  she  found  herself  always  scheming  to 
husband  shrewdly  and  spend  philanthropically  —  a  diffi 
cult  combination. 

As  she  awaited  her  guests  she  surveyed  the  table  with 
both  satisfaction  and  disquietude,  for  her  social  func 
tions  were  few.  To-night  there  were  —  she  checked  them 
off  on  her  fingers  —  Sir  James  Creighton,  the  rich  Eng 
lish  manufacturer,  and  Lady  Creighton,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Vanderpool,  Mr.  Harry  Cresswell  and  his  sister,  John 
Taylor  and  his  sister,  and  Mr.  Charles  Smith,  whom  the 
evening  papers  mentioned  as  likely  to  be  United  States 
Senator  from  New  Jersey  —  a  selection  of  guests  that 
had  been  determined,  unknown  to  the  hostess,  by  the 
meeting  of  cotton  interests  earlier  in  the  day. 

Mrs.  Grey's  chef  was  high-priced  and  efficient,  and 
her  butler  was  the  envy  of  many;  consequently,  she  knew 


148    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

the  dinner  would  be  good.  To  her  intense  satisfaction, 
it  was  far  more  than  this.  It  was  a  most  agreeable  couple 
of  hours ;  all  save  perhaps  Mr.  Smith  unbent,  the  English 
man  especially,  and  the  Vanderpools  were  most  gracious; 
but  if  the  general  pleasure  was  owing  to  any  one  person 
particularly  it  was  to  Mr.  Harry  Cresswell.  Mrs.  Grey 
had  met  Southerners  before,  but  not  intimately,  and  she 
always  had  in  mind  vividly  their  cruelty  to  "  poor 
Negroes,"  a  subject  she  made  a  point  of  introducing  forth 
with.  She  was  therefore  most  agreeably  surprised  to 
hear  Mr.  Cresswell  express  himself  so  cordially  as  ap 
proving  of  Negro  education. 

"  Why,  I  thought,"  said  Mrs.  Grey,  "  that  you  South 
erners  rather  disapproved  —  or  at  least  — -  " 

Mr.  Cresswell  inclined  his  head  courteously. 

"  We  Southerners,  my  dear  Mrs.  Grey,  are  responsible 
for  a  variety  of  reputations."  And  he  told  an  anecdote 
that  set  the  table  laughing.  "  Seriously,  though,"  he 
continued,  "  we  are  not  as  black  as  the  blacks  paint  us, 
although  on  the  whole  I  prefer  that  Helen  should  marry 
—  a  white  man." 

They  all  glanced  at  Miss  Cresswell,  who  lay  softly  back 
in  her  chair  like  a  white  lily,  gleaming  and  bejewelled, 
her  pale  face  flushing  under  the  scrutiny;  Mrs.  Grey 
was  horrified. 

"  Why  —  why  the  idea  !  "  she  sputtered.  "  Why,  Mr. 
Cresswell,  how  can  you  conceive  of  anything  else  —  no 
Northerner  dreams  —  " 

Mr.  Cresswell  sipped  his  wine  slowly. 

"  No  —  no  —  I  do  not  think  you  do  mean  that  —  " 
He  paused  and  the  Englishman  bent  forward. 

"  Really,  now,  you  do  not  mean  to  say  that  there  is 
danger  of  —  of  amalgamation,  do  you  ?  "  he  sang. 


MRS.  GREY  GIVES  A  DINNER  149 

Mr.  Cresswell  explained.     No,  of  course  there  was  no 

immediate  danger;  but  when  people  were  suddenly  thrust 

beyond  their  natural  station,  filled  with  wild  ideas  and 

impossible  ambitions,  it  meant  terrible  danger  to  South- 

.  era  white  women. 

"But  you  believe  in  some  education?"  asked  Mary 
Taylor. 

"  I  believe  in  the  training  of  people  to  their  highest 
capacity."  The  Englishman  here  heartily  seconded  him. 

"  But,"  Cresswell  added  significantly,  "  capacity  differs 
enormously  between  races." 

The  Vanderpools  were  sure  of  this  and  the  English 
man,  instancing  India,  became  quite  eloquent.  Mrs.  Grey 
was  mystified,  but  hardly  dared  admit  it.  The  general 
trend  of  the  conversation  seemed  to  be  that  most  indi 
viduals  needed  to  be  submitted  to  the  sharpest  scrutiny 
before  being  allowed  much  education,  and  as  for  the 
"  lower  races  "  it  was  simply  criminal  to  open  such  use 
less  opportunities  to  them. 

"  Why,  I  had  a  colored  servant-girl  once,"  laughed 
Mrs.  Vanderpool  by  way  of  climax,  "  who  spent  half  her 
wages  in  piano  lessons." 

Then  Mary  Taylor,  whose  conscience  was  uncom 
fortable,  said: 

"  But,  Mr.  Cresswell,  you  surely  believe  in  schools  like 
Miss  Smith's?" 

"  Decidedly,"  returned  Mr.  Cresswell,  with  enthusiasm, 
"  it  has  done  great  good." 

Mrs.  Grey  was  gratified  and  murmured  something  of 
Miss  Smith's  "  sacrifice." 

"  Positively  heroic,"  added  Cresswell,  avoiding  his 
sister's  eyes. 

"  Of  course,"  Mary  Taylor  hastened  to  encourage  this 


150   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

turn  of  the  conversation,  "  there  are  many  points  on 
which  Miss  Smith  and  I  disagree,  but  I  think  everybody 
admires  her  work." 

Mrs.  Grey  wanted  particulars.  "  What  did  you  dis 
agree  about  ?  "  she  asked  bluntly. 

"  I  may  be  responsible  for  some  of  the  disagreement," 
interrupted  Mr.  Cresswell,  hesitatingly ;  "  I  'm  afraid 
Miss  Smith  does  not  approve  of  us  white  Southerners." 

"  But  you  mean  to  say  you  can't  even  advise  her?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  we  can.  But  —  we  're  not  —  er  —  exactly 
welcomed.  In  fact,"  said  Cresswell  gravely,  "  the  chief 
criticism  I  have  against  your  Northerners'  schools  for 
Negroes  is,  that  they  not  only  fail  to  enlist  the  sympathy 
and  aid  of  the  best  Southerners,  but  even  repel  it." 

"  That  is  very  wrong  —  very  wrong,"  commented  the 
Englishman  warmly,  a  sentiment  in  which  Mrs.  Grey 
hastened  to  agree. 

"  Of  course,"  continued  Cresswell,  "  I  am  free  to  con 
fess  that  I  have  no  personal  desire  to  dabble  in  philan 
thropy,  or  conduct  schools  of  any  kind;  my  hands  are 
full  of  other  matters." 

"  But  it 's  precisely  the  advice  of  such  disinterested 
men  that  philanthropic  work  needs,"  Mr.  Vanderpool 
urged. 

"  Well,  I  volunteered  advice  once  in  this  case  and  I 
sha'n't  repeat  the  experiment  soon,"  said  Cresswell  laugh 
ing.  Mrs.  Grey  wanted  to  hear  the  incident,  but  the 
young  man  was  politely  reluctant.  Mary  Taylor,  how 
ever,  related  the  tale  of  Zora  to  Mrs.  Grey's  private 
ear  later. 

"  Fortunately,"  said  Mr.  Vanderpool,  "  Northerners 
and  Southerners  are  arriving  at  a  better  mutual  under 
standing  on  most  of  these  matters." 


MRS.  GREY  GIVES  A  DINNER  151 

"Yes,  indeed,"  Cresswell  agreed.  "After  all,  they 
never  were  far  apart,  even  in  slavery  days;  both  sides 
were  honest  and  sincere." 

All  through  the  dinner  Mr.  Smith  had  been  preoccu 
pied  and  taciturn.  Now  he  abruptly  shot  a  glance  at 
Cresswell. 

"  I  suppose  that  one  was  right  and  one  was  wrong." 

"  No,"  said  Cresswell,  "  both  were  right." 

"  I  thought  the  only  excuse  for  fighting  was  a  great 
Right;  if  Right  is  on  neither  side  or  simultaneously  on 
both,  then  War  is  not  only  Hell  but  Damnation." 

Mrs.  Grey  looked  shocked  and  Mrs.  Vanderpool  smiled. 

"How  about  fighting  for  exercise?"  she  suggested. 

"  At  any  rate,"  said  Cresswell,  "  we  can  all  agree  on 
helping  these  poor  victims  of  our  quarrel  as  far  as  their 
limited  capacity  will  allow  —  and  no  farther,  for  that  is 
impossible." 

Very  soon  after  dinner  Charles  Smith  excused  himself. 
He  was  not  yet  inured  to  the  ways  of  high  finance,  and 
the  programme  of  the  cotton  barons,  as  unfolded  that  day, 
lay  heavy  on  his  mind,  despite  all  his  philosophy. 

"  I  have  had  a  —  full  day,"  he  explained  to  Mrs.  Grey. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
LOVE 

THE  rain  was  sweeping  down  in  great  thick  winding 
sheets.    The  wind  screamed  in  the  ancient  Cresswell 
oaks  and  swirled  across  the  swamp  in  loud,  wild 
gusts.    The  waters  roared  and  gurgled  in  the  streams,  and 
along  the  roadside.     Then,  when  the  wind  fell  murmuring 
away,  the  clouds  grew  blacker  and  blacker  and  rain  in  long 
slim  columns  fell  straight  from  Heaven  to  earth  digging 
itself  into  the  land  and  throwing  back  the  red  mud  in 
angry  flashes. 

So  it  rained  for  one  long  week,  and  so  for  seven  end 
less  days  Bles  watched  it  with  leaden  heart.  He  knew 
the  Silver  Fleece  —  his  and  Zora's  —  must  be  ruined. 
It  was  the  first  great  sorrow  of  his  life;  it  was  not  so 
much  the  loss  of  the  cotton  itself  —  but  the  fantasy,  the 
hopes,  the  dreams  built  around  it.  If  it  failed,  would 
not  they  fail?  Was  not  this  angry  beating  rain,  this 
dull  spiritless  drizzle,  this  wild  war  of  air  and  earth, 
but  foretaste  and  prophecy  of  ruin  and  discouragement, 
of  the  utter  futility  of  striving?  But  if  his  own  despair 
was  great  his  pain  at  the  plight  of  Zora  made  it  almost 
unbearable.  He  did  not  see  her  in  these  seven  days.  He 
pictured  her  huddled  there  in  the  swamp  in  the  cheer 
less  leaky  cabin  with  worse  than  no  companions.  Ah! 

[152] 


LOVE  153 

the  swamp,  the  cruel  swamp!  It  was  a  fearful  place 
in  the  rain.  Its  oozing  mud  and  fetid  vapors,  its  cling 
ing  slimy  draperies,  —  how  they  twined  about  the  bones 
of  its  victims  and  chilled  their  hearts.  Yet  here  his  Zora, 
—  his  poor  disappointed  child  —  was  imprisoned. 

Child?  He  had  always  called  her  child  —  but  now  in 
the  inward  illumination  of  these  dark  days  he  knew  her 
as  neither  child  nor  sister  nor  friend,  but  as  the  One 
Woman.  The  revelation  of  his  love  lighted  and  bright 
ened  slowly  till  it  flamed  like  a  sunrise  over  him  and 
left  him  in  burning  wonder.  He  panted  to  know  if  she, 
too,  knew,  or  knew  and  cared  not,  or  cared  and  knew 
not.  She  was  so  strange  and  human  a  creature.  To 
her  all  things  meant  something  —  nothing  was  aimless, 
nothing  merely  happened.  Was  this  rain  beating  down 
and  back  her  love  for  him,  or  had  she  never  loved? 
He  walked  his  room,  gripping  his  hands,  peering  through 
the  misty  windows  toward  the  swamp  —  rain,  rain,  rain, 
nothing  but  rain.  The  world  was  water  veiled  in  mists. 

Then  of  a  sudden,  at  midday,  the  sun  shot  out,  hot 
and  still;  no  breath  of  air  stirred;  the  sky  was  like  blue 
steel;  the  earth  steamed.  Bles  rushed  to  the  edge  of  the 
swamp  and  stood  there  irresolute.  Perhaps  —  if  the 
water  had  but  drained  from  the  cotton !  —  it  was  so 
strong  and  tall!  But,  pshaw!  Where  was  the  use  of 
imagining?  The  lagoon  had  been  level  with  the  dykes 
a  week  ago ;  and  now  ?  He  could  almost  see  the  beautiful 
Silver  Fleece,  bedraggled,  drowned,  and  rolling  beneath 
the  black  lake  of  slime.  He  went  back  to  his  work,  but 
early  in  the  morning  the  thought  of  it  lured  him  again. 
He  must  at  least  see  the  grave  of  his  hope  and  Zora's, 
and  out  of  it  resurrect  new  love  and  strength. 

Perhaps  she,  too,   might   be   there,  waiting,   weeping. 


154   LTHE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

He  started  at  the  thought.  He  hurried  forth  sadly. 
The  rain-drops  were  still  dripping  and  gleaming  from  the 
trees,  flashing  back  the  heavy  yellow  sunlight.  He 
splashed  and  stamped  along,  farther  and  farther  onward 
until  he  neared  the  rampart  of  the  clearing,  and  put 
foot  upon  the  tree-bridge.  Then  he  looked  down.  The 
lagoon  was  dry.  He  stood  a  moment  bewildered,  then 
turned  and  rushed  upon  the  island.  A  great  sheet  of 
dazzling  sunlight  swept  the  place,  and  beneath  lay  a 
mighty  mass  of  olive  green,  thick,  tall,  wet,  and  willowy. 
The  squares  of  cotton,  sharp-edged,  heavy,  were  just 
about  to  burst  to  bolls !  And  underneath,  the  land  lay 
carefully  drained  and  black!  For  one  long  moment  he 
paused,  stupid,  agape  with  utter  amazement,  then  leaned 
dizzily  against  a  tree. 

The  swamp,  the  eternal  swamp,  had  been  drained  in 
its  deepest  fastness;  but,  how?  —  how?  He  gazed  about, 
perplexed,  astonished.  What  a  field  of  cotton !  what  a 
marvellous  field!  But  how  had  it  been  saved? 

He  skirted  the  island  slowly,  stopping  near  Zora's  oak. 
Here  lay  the  reading  of  the  riddle:  with  infinite  work  and 
pain,  some  one  had  dug  a  canal  from  the  lagoon  to  the 
creek,  into  which  the  former  had  drained  by  a  long  and 
crooked  way,  thus  allowing  it  to  empty  directly.  The 
canal  went  straight,  a  hundred  yards  through  stubborn 
soil,  and  it  was  oozing  now  with  slimy  waters. 

He  sat  down  weak,  bewildered,  and  one  thought  was 
uppermost  —  Zora!  And  with  the  thought  came  a  low 
moan  of  pain.  He  wheeled  and  leapt  toward  the  drip 
ping  shelter  in  the  tree.  There  she  lay  —  wet,  be 
draggled,  motionless,  gray-pallid  beneath  her  dark-drawn 
skin,  her  burning  eyes  searching  restlessly  for  some  lost 
thing,  her  lips  a-moaning. 


LOVE  155 

In  dumb  despair  he  dropped  beside  her  and  gathered 
her  in  his  arms.  The  earth  staggered  beneath  him  as 
he  stumbled  on;  the  mud  splashed  and  sunlight  glistened; 
he  saw  long  snakes  slithering  across  his  path  and  fear- 
struck  beasts  fleeing  before  his  coming.  He  paused  for 
neither  path  nor  way  but  went  straight  for  the  school, 
running  in  mighty  strides,  yet  gently,  listening  to  the 
moans  that  struck  death  upon  his  heart.  Once  he  fell 
headlong,  but  with  a  great  wrench  held  her  from  harm, 
and  minded  not  the  pain  that  shot  through  his  ribs.  The 
yellow  sunshine  beat  fiercely  around  and  upon  him,  as  he 
stumbled  into  the  highway,  lurched  across  the  mud- 
strewn  road,  and  panted  up  the  porch. 

"  Miss  Smith  — !  "  he  gasped,  and  then  —  darkness. 

The  years  of  the  days  of  her  dying  were  ten.  The 
boy  that  entered  the  darkness  and  the  shadow  of  death 
emerged  a  man,  a  silent  man  and  grave,  working  furiously 
arid  haunting,  day  and  night,  the  little  window  above  the 
door.  At  last,  of  one  gray  morning  when  the  earth  was 
stillest,  they  came  and  told  him,  "  She  will  live ! "  And 
he  went  out  under  the  stars,  lifted  his  long  arms  and 
sobbed :  "  Curse  me,  O  God,  if  I  let  me  lose  her  again !  " 
And  God  remembered  this  in  after  years. 

The  hope  and  dream  of  harvest  was  upon  the  land. 
The  cotton  crop  was  short  and  poor  because  of  the 
great  rain ;  but  the  sun  had  saved  the  best,  and  the  price 
had  soared.  So  the  world  was  happy,  and  the  face  of  the 
black-belt  green  and  luxuriant  with  thickening  flecks  of 
the  coming  foam  of  the  cotton. 

Up  in  the  sick  room  Zora  lay  on  the  little  white  bed. 
The  net  and  web  of  endless  things  had  been  crawling 
and  creeping  around  her;  she  had  struggled  in  dumb, 
speechless  terror  against  some  mighty  grasping  that 


156   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

strove  for  her  life,  with  gnarled  and  creeping  fingers; 
but  now  at  last,  weakly,  she  opened  her  eyes  and  ques 
tioned. 

Bles,  where  was  he?  The  Silver  Fleece,  how  was  it? 
The  Sun,  the  Swamp?  Then  finding  all  well,  she  closed 
her  eyes  and  slept.  After  some  days  they  let  her  sit 
by  the  window,  and  she  saw  Bles  pass,  but  drew  back 
timidly  when  he  looked ;  and  he  saw  only  the  flutter  of  her 
gown,  and  waved. 

At  last  there  came  a  day  when  they  let  her  walk  down 
to  the  porch,  and  she  felt  the  flickering  of  her  strength 
again.  Yet  she  looked  different;  her  buxom  comeliness 
was  spiritualized;  her  face  looked  smaller,  and  her  masses 
of  hair,  brought  low  about  her  ears,  heightened  her 
ghostly  beauty;  her  skin  was  darkly  transparent,  and 
her  eyes  looked  out  from  velvet  veils  of  gloom.  For  a 
while  she  lay  in  her  chair,  in  happy,  dreamy  pleasure  at 
sun  and  bird  and  tree.  Bles  did  not  know  yet  that  she 
was  down ;  but  soon  he  would  come  searching,  for  he 
came  each  hour,  and  she  pressed  her  little  hands  against 
her  breast  to  still  the  beating  of  her  heart  and  the  burst 
ing  wonder  of  her  love. 

Then  suddenly  a  panic  seized  her.  He  must  not  find 
her  here  —  not  here ;  there  was  but  one  place  in  all  the 
earth  for  them  to  meet,  and  that  was  yonder  in  the  Silver 
Fleece.  She  rose  with  a  fleeting  glance,  gathered  the 
shawl  round  her,  then  gliding  forward,  wavering,  tremu 
lous,  slipped  across  the  road  and  into  the  swamp.  The 
dark  mystery  of  the  Swamp  swept  over  her;  the  place 
was  hers.  She  had  been  born  within  its  borders;  within 
its  borders  she  had  lived  and  grown,  and  within  its  bor 
ders  she  had  met  her  love.  On  she  hurried  until,  sweep 
ing  down  to  the  lagoon  and  the  island,  lo !  the  cotton  lay 


LOVE  157 

before  her !  A  great  white  foam  was  spread  upon  its 
brown  and  green ;  the  whole  field  was  waving  and  shiver 
ing  in  the  sunlight.  A  low  cry  of  pleasure  burst  from 
her  lips;  she  forgot  her  weakness,  and  picking  her  way 
across  the  bridge,  stood  still  amid  the  cotton  that  nestled 
about  her  shoulders,  clasping  it  lovingly  in  her  hands. 

He  heard  that  she  was  down-stairs  and  ran  to  meet 
her  with  beating  heart.  The  chair  was  empty;  but  he 
knew.  There  was  but  one  place  then  for  these  two  souls 
to  meet.  Yet  it  was  far,  and  he  feared,  and  ran  with 
startled  eyes. 

She  stood  on  the  island,  ethereal,  splendid,  like  some 
tall,  dark,  and  gorgeous  flower  of  the  storied  East.  The 
green  and  white  of  the  cotton  billowed  and  foamed  about 
her  breasts;  the  red  scarf  burned  upon  her  neck;  the 
dark  brown  velvet  of  her  skin  pulsed  warm  and  tremulous 
with  the  uprushing  blood,  and  in  the  midnight  depths  of 
her  great  eyes  flamed  the  mighty  fires  of  long-concealed 
and  new-born  love. 

He  darted  through  the  trees  and  paused,  a  tall  man 
strongly  but  slimly  made.  He  threw  up  his  hands  in 
the  old  way  and  hallooed;  happily  she  crooned  back  a 
low  mother-melody,  and  waited.  He  came  down  to  her 
slowly,  with  fixed,  hungry  eyes,  threading  his  way  amid 
the  Fleece.  She  did  not  move,  but  lifted  both  her 
dark  hands,  white  with  cotton;  and  then,  as  he  came, 
casting  it  suddenly  to  the  winds,  in  tears  and  laughter 
she  swayed  and  dropped  quivering  in  his  arms.  And 
all  the  world  was  sunshine  and  peace. 


CHAPTER  XV 

REVELATION 

HARRY  CRESSWELL  was  scowling  over  his 
breakfast.  It  was  not  because  his  apartment 
in  the  New  York  hotel  was  not  satisfactory, 
or  his  breakfast  unpalatable;  possibly  a  rather  bewilder 
ing  night  in  Broadway  was  expressing  its  influence;  but 
he  was  satisfied  that  his  ill-temper  was  due  to  a  para 
graph  in  the  morning  paper: 

"  It  is  stated  on  good  authority  that  the  widow  of 
the  late  multimillionaire,  Job  Grey,  will  announce  a  large 
and  carefully  planned  scheme  of  Negro  education  in  the 
South,  and  will  richly  endow  schools  in  South  Carolina, 
Georgia,  Alabama,  Louisiana,  and  Texas." 

Cresswell  finally  thrust  his  food  away.  He  knew  that 
Mrs.  Grey  helped  Miss  Smith's  school,  and  supposed  she 
would  continue  to  do  so ;  with  that  in  mind  he  had  striven 
to  impress  her,  hoping  that  she  might  trust  his  judg 
ment  in  later  years.  He  had  no  idea,  however,  that  she 
meant  to  endow  the  school,  or  entertained  wholesale  plans 
for  Negro  education.  The  knowledge  made  him  suspicious. 
Why  had  neither  Mary  nor  John  Taylor  mentioned  this? 
Was  there,  after  all,  some  "  nigger-loving  "  conspiracy 
back  of  the  cotton  combine  ?  He  took  his  hat  and  started 
down-town. 

F158  1 


REVELATION  159 

Once  in  John  Taylor's  Broadway  office,  he  opened  the 
subject  abruptly  —  the  more  so  perhaps  because  he  felt 
a  resentment  against  Taylor  for  certain  unnamed  or 
partially  voiced  assumptions.  Here  was  a  place,  how 
ever,  for  speech,  and  he  spoke  almost  roughly. 

"Taylor,  what  does  this  mean?"  He  thrust  the  clip 
ping  at  him. 

"  Mean?  That  Mrs.  Grey  is  going  to  get  rid  of  some 
of  her  surplus  cash  —  is  going  to  endow  some  nigger 
schools,"  Taylor  drily  retorted. 

"  It  must  be  stopped,"  declared  Cresswell. 

The  other's  brows  drew  up. 

"  Why?  "  in  a  surprised  tone. 

"  Why  ?  Why  ?  Do  you  think  the  plantation  sys 
tem  can  be  maintained  without  laborers?  Do  you  think 
there  's  the  slightest  chance  of  cornering  cotton  and  buy 
ing  the  Black  Belt  if  the  niggers  are  unwilling  to  work 
under  present  conditions?  Do  you  know  the  man  that 
stands  ready  to  gobble  up  every  inch  of  cotton  land  in 
this  country  at  a  price  which  no  trust  can  hope  to 
rival?" 

John  Taylor's  interest  quickened. 

"  Why,  no,"  he  returned  sharply.     "  Who?  " 

"  The  Black  Man,  whose  woolly  head  is  filled  with  ideas 
of  rising.  We  're  striving  by  main  force  to  prevent  this, 
and  here  come  your  damned  Northern  philanthropists  to 
plant  schools.  Why,  Taylor,  it  '11  knock  the  cotton  trust 
to  hell." 

"  Don't  get  excited,"  said  Taylor,  judicially.  "  We  've 
got  things  in  our  hands ;  it 's  the  Grey  money,  you  know, 
that  is  back  of  us." 

"  That 's  just  what  confounds  me,"  declared  the  per 
plexed  young  man.  "Are  you  men  fools,  or  rascals? 


160    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

Don't  you  see  the  two  schemes  can't  mix?  They  're  dead 
opposite,  mutually  contradictory,  absolutely  —  "  Taylor 
checked  him;  it  was  odd  to  behold  Harry  Cresswell  so 
disturbed. 

"  Well,  wait  a  moment.  Let 's  see.  Sit  down.  Wish 
I  had  a  cigar  for  you,  but  I  don't  smoke." 

"Do  you  happen  to  have  any  whiskey  handy?" 

"  No,  I  don't  drink." 

"  Well,  what  the  devil  —  Oh,  well,  fire  away." 

"  Now,  see  here.  We  control  the  Grey  millions.  Of 
course,  we  've  got  to  let  her  play  with  her  income,  and 
that 's  considerable.  Her  favorite  game  just  now  is  Negro 
education,  and  she 's  planning  to  go  in  heavy.  Her 
adviser  in  this  line,  however,  is  Smith,  and  he  belongs  to 
us." 

"What  Smith?" 

"  Why,  the  man  who  's  going  to  be  Senator  from  New 
Jersey.  He  has  a  sister  teaching  in  the  South  —  you 
know,  of  course ;  it 's  at  your  home  where  my  sister  Mary 
taught." 

"  Great  Scott !  Is  that  woman's  brother  going  to  spend 
this  money?  Why,  are  you  daft?  See  here!  American 
cotton-spinning  supremacy  is  built  on  cheap  cotton ; 
cheap  cotton  is  built  on  cheap  niggers.  Educating,  or 
rather  trying  to  educate  niggers,  will  make  them  restless 
and  discontented  —  that  is,  scarce  and  dear  as  workers. 
Don't  you  see  you  're  planning  to  cut  off  your  noses  ? 
This  Smith  School,  particularly,  has  nearly  ruined  our 
plantation.  It 's  stuck  almost  in  our  front  yard ;  you  are 
planning  to  put  our  plough-hands  all  to  studying  Greek, 
and  at  the  same  time  to  corner  the  cotton  crop  —  rot !  " 

John  Taylor  caressed  his  lean  jaw. 

"  New  point  of  view  to  me ;  I  sort  of  thought  education 


REVELATION  161 

would  improve  things  in  the  South,"  he  commented,  un 
moved. 

"  It   would   if  we   ran   it." 

"We?" 

"  Yes  —  we  Southerners." 

"Urn!  —  I  see  —  there's  light.  See  here,  let's  talk 
to  Easterly  about  this."  They  went  into  the  next  office, 
and  after  a  while  got  audience  with  the  trust  magnate. 
Mr.  Easterly  heard  the  matter  carefully  and  waved  it 
aside. 

"  Oh,  that  does  n't  concern  us,  Taylor ;  let  Cresswell 
take  care  of  the  whole  thing.  We  '11  see  that  Smith  does 
what  Cresswell  wants." 

But  Taylor  shook  his  head. 

"  Smith  would  kick.  Mrs.  Grey  would  get  suspicious, 
and  the  devil  be  to  pay.  This  is  better.  Form  a  big 
committee  of  Northern  business  men  like  yourself  - 
philanthropists  like  Vanderpool,  and  Southerners  like 
Cresswell ;  let  them  be  a  sort  of  Negro  Education  steering- 
committee.  We  '11  see  that  on  such  committee  you  South 
erners  get  what  you  want  —  control  of  Negro  education." 

"  That  sounds  fair.  But  how  about  the  Smith  School  ? 
My  father  writes  me  that  they  are  showing  signs  of  ex 
pecting  money  right  off  —  is  that  true  ?  If  it  is,  I  want 
it  stopped;  it  will  ruin  our  campaign  for  the  Farmers' 
League." 

John  Taylor  looked  at  Cresswell.  He  thought  he  saw 
something  more  than  general  policy,  or  even  racial  prej 
udice —  something  personal  —  in  his  vehemence.  The 
Smith  School  was  evidently  a  severe  thorn  in  the  flesh 
of  this  man.  All  the  more  reason  for  mollifying  him/ 
Then,  too,  there  was  something  in  his  argument.  It  was 
not  wise  to  start  educating  these  Negroes  and  getting 


162    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

them  discontented  just  now.  Ignorant  labor  was  not 
ideal,  but  it  was  worth  too  much  to  employers  to  lose 
it  now.  Educated  Negro  labor  might  be  worth  more  to 
Negroes,  but  not  to  the  cotton  combine.  "  H'm  —  well, 
then  — "  and  John  Taylor  went  into  a  brown  study, 
while  Cresswell  puffed  impatiently  at  a  cigarette. 

"  I  have  it,"  said  Taylor.  Cresswell  sat  up.  "  First, 
let  Mr.  Easterly  get  Smith."  Easterly  turned  to  the 
telephone. 

"Is  that  you,  Smith?" 

"  Well,  this  is  Easterly  .  .  .  Yes  —  how  about 
Mrs.  Grey's  education  schemes?  .  .  .  Yes  .  .  . 
h'm  —  well,  —  see  here  Smith,  we  must  go  a  little  easy 
there  .  .  .  Oh,  no,  no,  —  but  to  advertise  just  now 
a  big  scheme  of  Negro  Education  would  drive  the  Cress- 
wells,  the  Farmers'  League,  and  the  whole  business  South 
dead  against  us.  ...  Yes,  yes  indeed;  they  believe 
in  education  all  right,  but  they  ain't  in  for  training  law 
yers  and  professors  just  yet  .  .  .  No,  I  don't  sup 
pose  her  school  is  ...  Well,  then ;  see  here.  She  '11 
be  reasonable,  won't  she,  and  placate  the  Cresswells? 
No,  I  mean  run  the  school  to  suit  their  ideas. 
No,  no,  but  in  general  along  the  lines  which  they 
could  approve  .  .  .  Yes,  I  thought  so  ...  of 
course  .  .  .  good-bye." 

"  Inclined  to  be  a  little  nasty  ?  "  asked  Taylor. 

"  A  little  sharp  —  but  tractable.  Now,  Mr.  Cresswell, 
the  thing  is  in  your  hands.  We  '11  get  this  committee 
which  Taylor  suggests  appointed,  and  send  it  on  a  junket 
to  Alabama;  you  do  the  rest  —  see? 

"Who'll  be  the  committee?"  asked  Cresswell. 

"  Name  it." 

Mr.  Cresswell  smiled  and  left. 


REVELATION  163 

The  winter  started  in  severely,  and  it  was  easy  to  fill 
two  private  cars  with  members  of  the  new  Negro  Educa 
tion  Board  right  after  Thanksgiving.  Cresswell  had 
worked  carefully  and  with  caution.  There  was  Mrs. 
Grey,  comfortable  and  beaming,  Mr.  Easterly,  who 
thought  this  a  good  business  opportunity,  and  his  family. 
Mrs.  Vanderpool  liked  the  South  and  was  amused  at  the 
trip,  and  had  induced  Mr.  Vanderpool  to  come  by  stories 
of  shooting. 

"Ah!"  said  Mr.  Vanderpool. 

Mr.  Charles  Smith  and  John  Taylor  were  both  too 
busy  to  go,  but  bronchial  trouble  induced  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Boldish  of  St.  Faith's  rich  parish  to  be  one  of  the  party, 
and  at  the  last  moment  Temple  Bocombe,  the  sociolo 
gist,  consented  to  join. 

"  Awfully  busy,"  he  said,  "  but  I  've  been  reading  up  J 
on  the  Negro   problem  since  you  mentioned  the   matter 
to  me  last  week,  Mr.  Cresswell,  and  I  think  I  understand 
it  thoroughly.     I  may  be  able  to  help  out." 

The  necessary  spice  of  young  womanhood  was  added 
to  the  party  by  Miss  Taylor  and  Miss  Cresswell,  to 
gether  with  the  silent  Miss  Boldish.  They  were  a  com 
fortable  and  sometimes  merry  party.  Dr.  Boldish  pointed 
out  the  loafers  at  the  stations,  especially  the  black  ones; 
Mr.  Bocombe  counted  them  and  estimated  the  number  of 
hours  of  work  lost  at  ten  cents  an  hour. 

"  Do  they  get  that  —  ten  cents  an  hour?  "  asked  Miss 
Taylor. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Mr.  Bocombe ;  "  but  sup 
pose  they  do,  for  instance.  That  is  an  average  wage 
to-day." 

"  They  look  lazy,"  said  Mrs.  Grey. 

"  They  are  lazy,"  said  Mr.  Cresswell. 


164   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  So  am  I,"  added  Mrs.  Vanderpool,  suppressing  a 
yawn. 

"  It  is  uninteresting,"  murmured  her  husband,  prepar 
ing  for  a  nap. 

On  the  whole  the  members  of  the  party  enjoyed  them 
selves  from  the  moment  they  drew  out  of  Jersey  City 
to  the  afternoon  when,  in  four  carriages,  they  rolled  be 
neath  the  curious  eyes  of  all  Toomsville  and  swept  under 
the  shadowed  rampart  of  the  swamp. 

"  The  Christmas  "  was  coming  and  all  the  Southern 
world  was  busy.  Few  people  were  busier  than  Bles  and 
Zora.  Slowly,  wonderfully  for  them,  heaven  bent  in  these 
dying  days  of  the  year  and  kissed  the  earth,  and  the 
tremor  thrilled  all  lands  and  seas.  Everything  was  good, 
all  things  were  happy,  and  these  two  were  happiest  of 
all.  Out  of  the  shadows  and  hesitations  of  childhood 
they  had  stepped  suddenly  into  manhood  and  woman 
hood,  with  firm  feet  and  uplifted  heads.  All  the  day  that 
was  theirs  they  worked,  picking  the  Silver  Fleece  — 
picking  it  tenderly  and  lovingly  from  off  the  brown  and 
spent  bodies  which  had  so  utterly  yielded  life  and  beauty 
to  the  full  fruition  of  this  long  and  silken  tendril,  this 
white  beauty  of  the  cotton.  November  came  and  flew, 
and  still  the  unexhausted  field  yielded  its  frothing  fruit. 

To-day  seemed  doubly  glorious,  for  Bles  had  spoken 
of  their  marriage;  with  twined  hands  and  arms,  and  lips 
ever  and  again  seeking  their  mates,  they  walked  the  leafy 
way. 

Unconscious,  rapt,  they  stepped  out  into  the  Big  Road 
skirting  the  edge  of  the  swamp.  Why  not?  Was  it 
not  the  King's  Highway?  And  Love  was  King.  So  they 
talked  on,  unknowing  that  far  up  the  road  the  Cress- 
well  coaches  were  wheeling  along  with  precious  burdens. 


REVELATION  165 

In  the  first  carriage  were  Mrs.  Grey  and  Mrs.  Vander- 
pool,  Mr.  Cresswell  and  Miss  Taylor.  Mrs.  Vanderpool 
was  lolling  luxuriously,  but  Mrs.  Grey  was  a  little  stiff 
from  long  travel  and  sat  upright.  Mr.  Cresswell  looked 
clean-cut  and  handsome,  and  Miss  Taylor  seemed  com 
placent  and  responsible.  The  dying  of  the  day  soothed 
them  all  insensibly.  Groups  of  dark  little  children  passed 
them  as  they  neared  the  school,  staring  with  wide  eyes 
and  greeting  timidly. 

"  There  seems  to  be  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage," 
laughed  Mrs.  Vanderpool. 

"  Not  very  much,"  said  Mr.  Cresswell  drily. 

"  Well,  at  least  plenty  of  children." 

"  Plenty." 

"But  where  are  the  houses?"  asked  Mrs.  Grey. 

"  Perhaps  in  the  swamp,"  said  Mrs.  Vanderpool  lightly, 
looking  up  at  the  sombre  trees  that  lined  the  left. 

"  They  live  where  they  please  and  do  as  they  please," 
Cresswell  explained;  to  which  Mrs.  Vanderpool  added: 
"  Like  other  animals." 

Mary  Taylor  opened  her  lips  to  rebuke  this  levity 
when  suddenly  the  coachman  called  out  and  the  horses 
swerved,  and  the  carriage's  four  occupants  faced  a  young 
man  and  a  young  woman  embracing  heartily. 

Out  through  the  wood  Bles  and  Zora  had  come  to  the 
broad  red  road;  playfully  he  celebrated  all  her  beauty 
unconscious  of  time  and  place. 

"  You  are  tall  and  bend  like  grasses  on  the  swamp," 
he  said. 

"  And  yet  look  up  to  you,"  she  murmured. 

"  Your  eyes  are  darkness  dressed  in  night." 

"  To  see  you  brighter,  dear,"  she  said. 

"  Your  little  hands  are  much  too  frail  for  work." 


166    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  They  must  grow  larger,  then,  and  soon." 
"  Your  feet  are  far  too  small  to  travel  on." 
"  They  '11  travel  on  to  you  —  that 's  far  enough." 
"  Your  lips  —  your  full  and  purple  lips  —  were  made 
alone  for  kissing,  not  for  words." 
"They'll  do  for  both." 

He  laughed  in  utter  joy  and  touched  her  hair  with 
light  caressing  hands. 

"  It  does  not  fly  with  sunlight,"  she  said  quickly,  with 
an  upward  glance. 

"  No,"  he  answered.  "  It  sits  and  listens  to  the  night." 
But  even  as  she  nestled  to  him  happily  there  came  the 
harsh  thunder  of  horses'  hoofs,  beating  on  their  ears. 
He  drew  her  quickly  to  him  in  fear,  and  the  coach  lurched 
and  turned,  and  left  them  facing  four  pairs  of  eyes.  Miss 
Taylor  reddened;  Mrs.  Grey  looked  surprised;  Mrs.  Van- 
derpool  smiled;  but  Mr.  Cresswell  darkened  with  anger. 
The  couple  unclasped  shamefacedly,  and  the  young  man, 
lifting  his  hat,  started  to  stammer  an  apology ;  but  Cress- 
well  interrupted  him: 

"  Keep  your  —  your  philandering  to  the  woods,  or  I 
shall  have  you  arrested,"  he  said  slowly,  his  face  colorless, 
his  lips  twitching  with  anger.  "  Drive  on,  John." 

Miss  Taylor  felt  that  her  worst  suspicions  had  been 
confirmed;  but  Mrs.  Vanderpool  was  curious  as  to  the 
cause  of  Cresswell's  anger.  It  was  so  genuine  that  it 
needed  explanation. 

"Are  kisses  illegal  here?  "  she  asked  before  the  horses 
started,  turning  the  battery  of  her  eyes  full  upon  him. 
But  Cresswell  had  himself  well  in  hand. 

"  No,"  he  said.     "  But  the  girl  is  —  notorious." 
On    the    lovers    the    words    fell    like    a    blow.      Zora 
shivered,  and  a  grayish  horror  mottled  the  dark  burn- 


REVELATION  167 

ing  of  her  face.  Bles  started  in  anger,  then  paused  in 
shivering  doubt.  What  had  happened?  They  knew  not; 
yet  involuntarily  their  hands  fell  apart;  they  avoided 
each  other's  eyes. 

"I  —  I  must  go  now,"  gasped  Zora,  as  the  carriage 
swept  away. 

He  did  not  hold  her,  he  did  not  offer  the  farewell  kiss, 
but  stood  staring  at  the  road  as  she  walked  into  the 
swamp.  A  moment  she  paused  and  looked  back;  then 
slowly,  almost  painfully,  she  took  the  path  back  to  the 
field  of  the  Fleece,  and  reaching  it  after  long,  long  min 
utes,  began  mechanically  to  pick  the  cotton.  But  the 
cotton  glowed  crimson  in  the  failing  sun. 

Bles  walked  toward  the  school.  What  had  happened? 
he  kept  asking.  And  yet  he  dared  not  question  the  awful 
shape  that  sat  somewhere,  cold  and  still,  behind  his  soul. 
He  heard  the  hoofs  of  horses  again.  It  was  Miss  Taylor 
being  brought  back  to  the  school  to  greet  Miss  Smith  and 
break  the  news  of  the  coming  of  the  party.  He  raised  his 
hat.  She  did  not  return  the  greeting,  but  he  found  her 
pausing  at  the  gate.  It  seemed  to  her  too  awful  for  this 
foolish  fellow  thus  to  throw  himself  away.  She  faced 
him  and  he  flinched  as  from  some  descending  blow. 

"  Bles,"  she  said  primly,  "  have  you  absolutely  no 
shame  ?  " 

He  braced  himself  and  raised  his  head  proudly. 

"  I  am  going  to  marry  her ;  it  is  no  crime."  Then  he 
noted  the  expression  on  her  face,  and  paused. 

She  stepped  back,  scandalized. 

"  Can  it  be,  Bles  Alwyn,"  she  said,  "  that  you  don't 
know  the  sort  of  girl  she  is  ?  " 

He  raised  his  hands  and  warded  off  her  words,  dumbly, 
as  she  turned  to  go,  almost  frightened  at  the  havoc  she 


168    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

saw.  The  heavens  flamed  scarlet  in  his  eyes  and  he 
screamed. 

"  It 's  a  lie !  It 's  a  damned  lie !  "  He  wheeled  about 
and  tore  into  the  swamp. 

"  It 's  a  damned  lie!  "  he  shouted  to  the  trees.  "  Is  it? 
—  is  it?  "  chirped  the  birds.  "  It 's  a  cruel  falsehood!  " 
he  moaned.  "  Is  it?  —  is  it?  "  whispered  the  devils  within. 

It  seemed  to  him  as  though  suddenly  the  world  was 
staggering  and  faltering  about  him.  The  trees  bent 
curiously  and  strange  breathings  were  upon  the  breezes. 
He  unbuttoned  his  collar  that  he  might  get  more  air.  A 
thousand  things  he  had  forgotten  surged  suddenly  to  life. 
Slower  and  slower  he  ran,  more  and  more  the  thoughts 
crowded  his  head.  He  thought  of  that  first  red  night 
and  the  yelling  and  singing  and  wild  dancing;  he  thought 
of  Cresswell's  bitter  words ;  he  thought  of  Zora  telling  how 
she  stayed  out  nights ;  he  thought  of  the  little  bower  that 
he  had  built  her  in  the  cotton  field.  A  wild  fear  struggled 
with  his  anger,  but  he  kept  repeating,  "  No,  no,"  and 
then,  "  At  any  rate,  she  will  tell  me  the  truth."  She 
had  never  lied  to  him;  she  would  not  dare;  he  clenched 
his  hands,  murder  in  his  heart. 

Slowly  and  more  slowly  he  ran.  He  knew  where  she 
was  —  where  she  must  be,  waiting.  And  yet  as  he  drew 
near  huge  hands  held  him  back,  and  heavy  weights 
clogged  his  feet.  His  heart  said :  "  On !  quick !  She 
will  tell  the  truth,  and  all  will  be  well."  His  mind  said: 
"  Slow,  slow ;  this  is  the  end."  He  hurled  the  thought 
aside,  and  crashed  through  the  barrier. 

She  was  standing  still  and  listening,  with  a  huge  basket 
of  the  piled  froth  of  the  field  upon  her  head.  One  long 
brown  arm,  tender  with  curvings,  balanced  the  cotton; 
the  other,  poised,  balanced  the  slim  swaying  body.  Bend- 


CAN  IT  BE,  BLES  ALWYN,"  SHE  SAID,  "  THAT  YOU 

DON'T  KNOW  THE  SORT  OF  A  GIRL  SHE  IS?  " 


REVELATION  169 

ing,  she  listened,  her   eyes   shining,  her  lips   apart,  her 
bosom  fluttering  at  the  well-known  step. 

He  burst  into  her  view  with  the  fury  of  a  beast,  rend 
ing  the  wood  away  and  trampling  the  underbrush,  reeling 
and  muttering  until  he  saw  her.  She  looked  at  him.  Her 
hands  dropped,  she  stood  very  still  with  drawn  face,  gray 
ish-brown,  both  hands  unconsciously  out-stretched,  and 
the  cotton  swaying,  while  deep  down  in  her  eyes,  dimly, 
slowly,  a  horror  lit  and  grew.  He  paused  a  moment, 
then  came  slowly  onward  doggedly,  drunkenly,  with  torn 
clothes,  flying  collar,  and  red  eyes.  Then  he  paused 
again,  still  beyond  arm's-length,  looking  at  her  with  fear- 
struck  eyes.  The  cotton  on  her  head  shivered  and 
dropped  in  a  pure  mass  of  white  and  silvery  snow  about 
her  limbs.  Her  hands  fell  limply  and  the  horror  flamed 
in  her  wet  eyes.  He  struggled  with  his  voice  but  it  grated 
and  came  hoarse  and  hard  from  his  quivering  throat. 

"Zora!" 

"  Yes,  Bles." 

"  You  —  you  told  me  —  you  were  —  pure." 

She  was  silent,  but  her  body  went  all  a-tremble.  He 
stepped  forward  until  she  could  almost  touch  him ;  there 
standing  straight  and  tall  he  glared  down  upon  her. 

"  Answer  me,"  he  whispered  in  a  voice  hard  with  its 
tight  held  sobs.  A  misery  darkened  her  face  and  the 
light  died  from  her  eyes,  yet  she  looked  at  him  bravely 
and  her  voice  came  low  and  full  as  from  afar. 

"  I  asked  you  what  it  meant  to  be  pure,  Bles,  and  — • 
and  you  told  —  and  I  told  you  the  truth." 

"  What  it  meant !  —  what  it  meant !  "  he  repeated  in 
the  low,  tense  anguish. 

"  But  —  but, ,  Bles  —  She   faltered ;   there   came   an 

awful  pleading  in  her  eyes ;  her  hand  groped  toward  him ; 


170   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

but  he  stepped  slowly  back  —  "  But,  Bles  —  you  said  — 
willingly  —  you  said  —  if  —  if  she  knew  —  " 

He  thundered  back  in  livid  anger: 

"  Knew !     All  women  know !     You  should  have  died!  " 

Sobs  were  rising  and  shaking  her  from  head  to  foot, 
but  she  drove  them  back  and  gripped  her  breasts  with 
her  hands. 

"  No,  Bles  —  no  —  all  girls  do  not  know.  I  was  a 
child.  Not  since  I  knew  you,  Bles  —  never,  never  since  I 
saw  you." 

"  Since  —  since,"  he  groaned  —  "  Christ !  But  be 
fore?  " 

"  Yes,  before." 

"My  God!" 

She  knew  the  end  had  come.  Yet  she  babbled  on 
tremblingly : 

"  He  was  our  master,  and  all  the  other  girls  that 
gathered  there  did  his  will ;  I  —  I  —  "  she  choked  and 
faltered,  and  he  drew  farther  away  —  "  I  began  running 
away,  and  they  hunted  me  through  the  swamps.  And  then 

—  then  I  reckon  I  'd  have  gone  back  and  been  —  as  they 
all  are  —  but  you  came,  Bles  —  you  came,  and  you  —  you 
were  a  new  great  thing  in  my  life,  and  —  and  —  yet,  I 
was  afraid  I  was  not  worthy  until  you  —  you  said  the 
words.     I  thought  you  knew,  and  I  thought  that  —  that 
purity  was  just  wanting  to  be  pure." 

He  ground  his  teeth  in  fury.     Oh,  he  was  an  innocent 

—  a   blind  baby  —  the  joke   and   laughing-stock   of   the 
country  around,  with  yokels  grinning  at  him  and  pale- 
faced  devils  laughing  aloud.     The  teachers  knew ;  the  girls 
knew ;  God  knew ;  everybody  but  he  knew  —  poor  blind, 
deaf  mole,  stupid  jackass  that  he  was.     He  must  run  — 


REVELATION  171 

run  away  from  this  world,  and  far  off  in  some  free  land 
beat  back  this  pain. 

Then  in  sheer  weariness  the  anger  died  within  his  soul, 
leaving  but  ashes  and  despair.  Slowly  he  turned  away, 
but  with  a  quick  motion  she  stood  in  his  path. 

"  Bles,"  she  cried,  "  how  can  I  grow  pure?  " 

He  looked  at  her  listlessly. 

"  Never  —  never  again,"  he  slowly  answered  her. 

Dark  fear  swept  her  drawn  face. 

"  Never  ?  "  she  gasped. 

Pity  surged  and  fought  in  his  breast;  but  one  thought 
held  and  burned  him.  He  bent  to  her  fiercely : 

"Who?"  he  demanded. 

She  pointed  toward  the  Cresswell  Oaks,  and  he  turned 
away.  She  did  not  attempt  to  stop  him  again,  but 
dropped  her  hands  and  stared  drearily  up  into  the  clear 
sky  with  its  shining  worlds. 

"  Good-bye,  Bles,"  she  said  slowly.  "  I  thank  God  he 
gave  you  to  me  —  just  a  little  time."  She  hesitated  and 
waited.  There  came  no  word  as  the  man  moved  slowly 
away.  She  stood  motionless.  Then  slowly  he  turned  and 
came  back.  He  laid  his  hand  a  moment,  lightly,  upon 
her  head. 

"  Good-bye  —  Zora,"  he  sobbed,  and  was  gone. 

She  did  not  look  up,  but  knelt  there  silent,  dry-eyed, 
till  the  last  rustle  of  his  going  died  in  the  night.  And 
then,  like  a  waiting  storm,  the  torrent  of  her  grief  swept 
down  upon  her ;  she  stretched  herself  upon  the  black  and 
fleece-strewn  earth,  and  writhed. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  GREAT  REFUSAL 

ALL  night  Miss  Smith  lay  holding  the  quivering 
form  of  Zora  close  to  her  breast,  staring  wide- 
eyed  into  the  darkness  —  thinking,  thinking.  In 
the  morning  the  party  would  come.  There  would  be  Mrs. 
Grey  and  Mary  Taylor,  Mrs.  Vanderpool,  who  had  left 
her  so  coldly  in  the  lurch  before,  and  some  of  the  Cress- 
wells.  They  would  come  well  fed  and  impressed  with  the 
charming  hospitality  of  their  hosts,  and  rather  more  than 
willing  to  see  through  those  host's  eyes.  They  would  be 
in  a  hurry  to  return  to  some  social  function,  and  would 
give  her  work  but  casual  attention. 

It  seemed  so  dark  an  ending  to  so  bright  a  dream. 
Never  for  her  had  a  fall  opened  as  gloriously.  The  love 
of  this  boy  and  girl,  blossoming  as  it  had  beneath  her 
tender  care,  had  been  a  sacred,  wonderful  history  that  re 
vived  within  her  memories  of  long-forgotten  days.  But 
above  lay  the  vision  of  her  school,  redeemed  and  en 
larged,  its  future  safe,  its  usefulness  broadened  — 
small  wonder  that  to  Sarah  Smith  the  future  had  seemed 
in  November  almost  golden. 

Then  things  began  to  go  wrong.  The  transfer  of  the 
Tolliver  land  had  not  yet  been  effected;  the  money  was 
ready,  but  Mr.  Tolliver  seemed  busy  or  hesitating.  Next 

[172] 


THE  GREAT  REFUSAL  173 

came  this  news  of  Mrs.  Grey's  probable  conditions.  So 
here  it  was  Christmas  time,  and  Sarah  Smith's  castles  lay 
almost  in  ruins  about  her. 

The  girl  moaned  in  her  fitful  sleep  and  Miss  Smith 
soothed  her.  Poor  child !  here  too  was  work  —  a  strange 
strong  soul  cruelly  stricken  in  her  youth.  Could  she  be 
brought  back  to  a  useful  life?  How  she  needed  such  a 
strong,  clear-eyed  helper  in  this  crisis  of  her  work! 
Would  Zora  make  one  or  would  this  blow  send  her  to 
perdition?  Not  if  Sarah  Smith  could  save  her,  she  re 
solved,  and  stared  out  the  window  where  the  pale  red  dawn 
was  sending  its  first  rays  on  the  white-pillared  mansion  of 
the  Cresswells. 

Mrs.  Grey  saw  the  light  on  the  columns,  too,  as  she 
lay  lazily  in  her  soft  white  bed.  There  was  a  certain 
delicious  languor  in  the  late  lingering  fall  of  Alabama 
that  suited  her  perfectly.  Then,  too,  she  liked  the  house 
and  its  appointments ;  there  was  not,  to  be  sure,  all  the 
luxury  that  she  was  used  to  in  her  New  York  mansion, 
but  there  was  a  certain  finish  about  it,  an  elegance  and 
staid  old-fashioned  hospitality  that  appealed  to  her 
tremendously.  Mrs.  Grey's  heart  warmed  to  the  sight  of 
Helen  in  her  moments  of  spasmodic  caring  for  the  sick 
and  afflicted  on  the  estate.  No  better  guardian  of  her 
philanthropies  could  be  found  than  these  same  Cresswells. 
She  must,  of  course,  go  over  and  see  dear  Sarah  Smith; 
but  really  there  was  not  much  to  say  or  to  look  at. 

The  prospects  seemed  most  alluring.  Later,  Mr.  East 
erly  talked  a  while  on  routine  business,  saying,  as  he 
turned  away: 

"  I  am  more  and  more  impressed,  Mrs.  Grey,  with  your 
wisdom  in  placing  large  investments  in  the  South.  With 
peaceful  social  conditions  the  returns  will  be  large." 


174    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

Mrs.  Grey  heard  this  delicate  flattery  complacently. 
She  had  her  streak  of  thrift,  and  wanted  her  business 
capacity  recognized.  She  listened  attentively. 

"  For  this  reason,  I  trust  you  will  handle  your  Negro 
philanthropies  judicially,  as  I  know  you  will.  There  's 
dynamite  in  this  race  problem  for  amateur  reformers,  but 
fortunately  you  have  at  hand  wise  and  sympathetic 
advisers  in  the  Cresswells." 

Mrs.  Grey  agreed  entirely. 

Mary  Taylor,  alone  of  the  committee,  took  her  com 
mission  so  seriously  as  to  be  anxious  to  begin  work. 

"  We  are  to  visit  the  school  this  morning,  you  know," 
she  reminded  the  others,  looking  at  her  watch ;  "  I  'm 
afraid  we  're  late  already." 

The  remark  created  mild  consternation.  It  seemed 
that  Mr.  Vanderpool  had  gone  hunting  and  his  wife  had 
not  yet  arisen.  Dr.  Boldish  was  very  hoarse,  Mr.  East 
erly  was  going  to  look  over  some  plantations  with  Colonel 
Cresswell,  and  Mr.  Bocombe  was  engrossed  in  a  novel. 

"  Clever,  but  not  true  to  life,"  he  said. 

Finally  the  clergyman  and  Mr.  Bocombe,  Mrs.  Grey 
and  Mrs.  Vanderpool  and  Miss  Taylor  started  for  the 
school,  with  Harry  Cresswell,  about  an  hour  after  lunch, 
The  delay  and  suppressed  excitement  among  the  little 
folks  had  upset  things  considerably  there,  but  at  the  sight 
of  the  visitors  at  the  gate  Miss  Smith  rang  the  bell. 

The  party  came  in,  laughing  and  chatting.  They 
greeted  Miss  Smith  cordially.  Dr.  Boldish  was  begin 
ning  to  tell  a  good  story  when  a  silence  fell. 

The  children  had  gathered,  quietly,  almost  timidly,  and 
before  the  distinguished  company  realized  it,  they  turned 
to  meet  that  battery  of  four  hundred  eyes.  A  human 
eye  is  a  wonderful  thing  when  it  simply  waits  and  watches. 


THE  GREAT  REFUSAL  175 

Not  one  of  these  little  things  alone  would  have  been  worth 
more  than  a  glance,  but  together,  they  became  mighty, 
portentous.  Mr.  Bocombe  got  out  his  note-book  and 
wrote  furiously  therein.  Dr.  Boldish,  naturally  the  ap 
pointed  spokesman,  looked  helplessly  about  and  whispered 
to  Mrs.  Vanderpool: 

"  What  on  earth  shall  I  talk  about?  " 

"  The  brotherhood  of  man?  "  suggested  the  lady. 

"  Hardly  advisable,"  returned  Dr.  Boldish,  seriously, 
"  in  our  friend's  presence,"  —  with  a  glance  toward 
Cresswell.  Then  he  arose. 

"  My  friends,"  he  said,  touching  his  finger-tips  and 
using  blank  verse  in  A  minor.  "  This  is  an  auspicious 
day.  You  should  be  thankful  for  the  gifts  of  the  Lord. 
His  bounty  surrounds  you  —  the  trees,  the  fields,  the 
glorious  sun.  He  gives  cotton  to  clothe  you,  corn  to  eat, 
devoted  friends  to  teach  you.  Be  joyful.  Be  good. 
Above  all,  be  thrifty  and  save  your  money,  and  do  not 
complain  and  whine  at  your  apparent  disadvantages. 
Remember  that  God  did  not  create  men  equal  but  un 
equal,  and  set  metes  and  bounds.  It  is  not  for  us  to 
question  the  wisdom  of  the  Almighty,  but  to  bow  humbly 
to  His  will. 

"  Remember  that  the  slavery  of  your  people  was  not 
necessarily  a  crime.  It  was  a  school  of  work  and  love. 
It  gave  you  noble  friends,  like  Mr.  Cresswell  here."  A 
restless  stirring,  and  the  battery  of  eyes  was  turned  upon 
that  imperturbable  gentleman,  as  if  he  were  some  strange  \ 
animal.  "  Love  and  serve  them.  Remember  that  we  get, 
after  all,  little  education  from  books;  rather  in  the  fields, 
at  the  plough  and  in  the  kitchen.  Let  your  ambition  be  to 
serve  rather  than  rule,  to  be  humble  followers  of  the 
lowly  Jesus." 


176    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

With  an  upward  glance  the  Rev.  Mr.  Boldish  sat  down 
amid  a  silence  a  shade  more  intense  than  that  which  had 
greeted  him.  Then  slowly  from  the  far  corner  rose  a  thin 
voice,  tremulously.  It  wavered  on  the  air  and  almost 
broke,  then  swelled  in  sweet,  low  music.  Other  and 
stronger  voices  gathered  themselves  to  it,  until  two  hun 
dred  were  singing  a  soft  minor  wail  that  gripped  the 
hearts  and  tingled  in  the  ears  of  the  hearers.  Mr.  Bo- 
combe  groped  with  a  puzzled  expression  to  find  the  pocket 
for  his  note-book ;  Harry  Cresswell  dropped  his  eyes,  and 
on  Mrs.  Vanderpool's  lips  the  smile  died.  Mary  Taylor 
flushed,  and  Mrs.  Grey  cried  frankly: 

"  Poor  things  !  "  she  whispered. 

"  Now,"  said  Mrs.  Grey,  turning  about,  "  we  have  n't 
but  just  a  moment  and  we  want  to  take  a  little  look  at 
your  work."  She  smiled  graciously  upon  Miss  Smith. 

Mrs.  Grey  thought  the  cooking-school  very  nice. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  said,  "  that  you  furnish  cooks  for 
the  county." 

"  Largely,"  said  Miss  Smith.  Mrs.  Vanderpool  looked 
surprised,  but  Miss  Smith  added:  "This  county,  you 
know,  is  mostly  black."  Mrs.  Grey  did  not  catch  the 
point. 

The  dormitories  were  neat  and  the  ladies  expressed 
great  pleasure  in  them. 

"  It  is  certainly  nice  for  them  to  know  what  a  clean 
place  is,"  commented  Mrs.  Grey.  Mr.  Cresswell,  however, 
looked  at  a  bath-room  and  smiled. 

"  How  practical !  "  he  said. 

"  Can  you  not  stop  and  see  some  of  the  classes  ? " 
Sarah  Smith  knew  in  her  heart  that  the  visit  was  a  failure, 
still  she  would  do  her  part  to  the  end. 

"  I  doubt  if  we  shall  have  time,"  Mrs.  Grey  returned, 


THE  GREAT  REFUSAL  177 

as  they  walked  on.  "  Mr.  Cresswell  expects  friends  to 
dinner." 

"  What  a  magnificent  intelligence  office,"  remarked  Mr. 
Bocombe,  "  for  furnishing  servants  to  the  nation.  I  saw 
splendid  material  for  cooks  and  maids." 

"  And  plough-boys,"  added  Cresswell. 

"  And  singers,"  said  Mary  Taylor. 

"  Well,  now  that 's  just  my  idea,"  said  Mrs.  Grey, 
"  that  these  schools  should  furnish  trained  servants  and 
laborers  for  the  South.  Is  n't  that  your  idea,  Miss 
Smith?" 

"Not  exactly,"  that  lady  replied,  "or  at  least  I 
shouldn't  put  it  just  that  way.  My  idea  is  that  this 
school  should  furnish  men  and  women  who  can  work  and 
earn  an  honest  living,  train  up  families  aright,  and  per 
form  their  duties  as  fathers,  mothers,  and  citizens." 

"  Yes  —  yes,  precisely,"  said  Mrs.  Grey,  "  that 's  what 
I  meant." 

"  I  think  tKe  whites  can  attend  to  the  duties  of  citizen 
ship  without  help,"  observed  Mr.  Cresswell. 

"  Don't  let  the  blacks  meddle  in  politics,"  said  Dr. 
Boldish. 

"  I  want  to  make  these  children  full-fledged  men  and 
wTomen,  strong,  self-reliant,  honest,  without  any  *  ifs  ' 
and  '  ands  '  to  their  development,"  insisted  Miss  Smith. 

"  Of  course,  and  that  is  just  what  Mr.  Cresswell  wants. 
Isn't  it,  Mr.  Cresswell?"  asked  Mrs.  Grey. 

"  I  think  I  may  say  yes,"  Mr.  Cresswell  agreed.  "  I 
certainly  want  these  people  to  develop  as  far  as  they  can, 
although  Miss  Smith  and  I  would  differ  as  to  their  pos 
sibilities.  But  it  is  not  so  much  in  the  general  theory  of 
Negro  education  as  in  its  particular  applications  where 
our  chief  differences  would  lie.  I  may  agree  that  a  boy 


178    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

should  learn  higher  arithmetic,  yet  object  to  his  loafing 
in  plough-time.  I  might  want  to  educate  some  girls  but 
not  girls  like  Zora." 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  glanced  at  Mr.  Cresswell,  smiling  to 
herself. 

Mrs.  Grey  broke  in,  beaming: 

"That's  just  it,  dear  Miss  Smith,  —  just  it.  Your 
heart  is  good,  but  you  need  strong  practical  advice.  You 
know  we  weak  women  are  so  impractical,  as  my  poor  Job 
so  often  said.  Now,  I  'm  going  to  arrange  to  endow  this 
school  with  at  least  —  at  least  a  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
'sand  dollars.  One  condition  is  that  my  friend,  Mr.  Cress- 
well  here,  and  these  other  gentlemen,  including  sound 
Northern  business  men  like  Mr.  Easterly,  shall  hold  this 
money  in  trust,  and  expend  it  for  your  school  as  they 
think  best." 

"  Mr.  Cresswell  would  be  their  local  representative?  " 
asked  Miss  Smith  slowly  with  white  face. 

"  Why  yes  —  yes,  of  course." 

There  was  a  long,  tense  silence.     Then  the  firm  reply, 

"  Mrs.  Grey,  I  thank  you,  but  I  cannot  accept  your 
offer." 

Sarah  Smith's  voice  was  strong,  the  tremor  had  left  her 
hands.  She  had  expected  something  like  this,  of  course; 
yet  when  it  came  —  somehow  it  failed  to  stun.  She 
would  not  turn  over  the  direction  of  the  school,  or 
the  direction  of  the  education  of  these  people,  to  those 
who  were  most  opposed  to  their  education.  Therefore, 
there  was  no  need  to  hesitate;  there  was  no  need  to  think 
the  thing  over  —  she  had  thought  it  over  —  and  she 
looked  into  Mrs.  Grey's  eyes  and  with  gathering  tears  in 
her  own  said: 

"Again,  I  thank  you  very  much,  Mrs.  Grey." 


THE  GREAT  REFUSAL  179 

Mrs.  Grey  was  a  picture  of  the  most  emphatic  surprise, 
and  Mr.  Cresswell  moved  to  the  window.  Mrs.  Grey 
looked  helplessly  at  her  companions. 

"  But  —  I  don't  understand,  Miss  Smith  —  why  can't 
you  accept  my  offer?  " 

"  Because  you  ask  me  to  put  my  school  in  control  of 
those  who  do  not  wish  for  the  best  interests  of  black  folk,  ^ 
and  in  particular  I  object  to  Mr.  Cresswell,"  said  Miss 
Smith,  slowly  but  very  distinctly,  "  because  his  relation 
to  the  forces  of  evil  in  this  community  has  been  such  that 
he  can  direct  no  school  of  mine."  Mrs.  Vanderpool1 
moved  toward  the  door  and  Mr.  Cresswell  bowing  slightly 
followed.  Dr.  Boldish  looked  indignant  and  Mr.  Bo- 
combe  dove  after  his  note-book.  Mary  Taylor,  her  head 
in  a  whirl,  came  forward.  She  felt  that  in  some  way  she 
was  responsible  for  this  dreadful  situation  and  she  wanted 
desperately  to  save  matters  from  final  disaster. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  "  Mrs.  Grey,  we  '11  talk  this  mat 
ter  over  again  later.  I  am  sure  Miss  Smith  does  not 
mean  quite  all  she  says  —  she  is  tired  and  nervous.  You 
join  the  others  and  don't  wait  for  me  and  I  will  be  along 
directly." 

Mrs.  Grey  was  only  too  glad  to  escape  and  Mr.  Bocombe 
got  a  chance  to  talk.  He  drew  out  his  note-book. 

"  Awfully  interesting,"  he  said,  "  awfully.     Now  —  er 
—  let 's  see  —  oh,  yes.     Did  you  notice  how  unhealthy  the 
children  looked  ?     Race  is  undoubtedly  dying  out ;  fact.  '' 
No     hope.      Weak.       No      spontaneity     either  —  rather 
languid,  did  you  notice?     Yes,  and  their  heads  —  small 
and   narrow  —  no   brain    capacity.      They    can't   concen-' 
trate ;  notice  how  some  slept  when  Dr.  Boldish  was  speak 
ing?     Mr.  Cresswell  says  they  own  almost  no  land  here; 
think  of  it  ?    This  land  was  worth  only  ten  dollars  an  acre 


180    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

a  decade  ago,  he  says.  Negroes  might  have  bought  all  and 
been  rich.  Very  shiftless  —  and  that  singing.  Now,  I 
wonder  where  they  got  the  music?  Imitation,  of  course." 
And  so  he  rattled  on,  noting  not  the  silence  of  the  others. 

As  the  carriage  drove  off  Mary  turned  to  Miss  Smith. 

"  Now,  Miss  Smith,"  she  began  —  but  Miss  Smith 
looked  at  her,  and  said  sternly,  "  Sit  down." 

Mary  Taylor  sat  down.  She  had  been  so  used  to  lectur 
ing  the  older  woman  that  the  sudden  summoning  of  her 
well  known  sternness  against  herself  took  her  breath,  and 
she  sat  awkwardly  like  the  school  girl  that  she  was  wait 
ing  for  Miss  Smith  to  speak.  She  felt  suddenly  very 
young  and  very  helpless  —  she  who  had  so  jauntily  set 
out  to  solve  this  mighty  problem  by  a  waving  of  her  wand. 
She  saw  with  a  swelling  of  pity  the  drawn  and  stricken 
face  of  her  old  friend  and  she  started  up. 

"  Sit  down,"  repeated  Miss  Smith  harshly.  "  Mary 
Taylor,  you  are  a  fool.  You  are  not  foolish,  for  the 
foolish  learn;  you  are  simply  a  fool.  You  will  never 
learn ;  you  have  blundered  into  this  life  work  of  mine  and 
well  nigh  ruined  it.  Whether  I  can  yet  save  it  God 
alone  knows.  You  have  blundered  into  the  lives  of  two 
loving  children,  and  sent  one  wandering  aimless  on  the 
face  of  the  earth  and  the  other  moaning  in  yonder  cham 
ber  with  death  in  her  heart.  You  are  going  to  marry 
the  man  that  sought  Zora's  ruin  when  she  was  yet  a  child 
because  you  think  of  his  aristocratic  pose  and  preten 
sions  built  on  the  poverty,  crime,  and  exploitation  of  six 
generations  of  serfs.  You  '11  marry  him  and  —  " 

But  Miss  Taylor  leapt  to  her  feet  wjth  blazing  cheeks. 

"  How  dare  you?  "  she  screamed,  beside  herself. 

"  But  God  in  heaven  help  you  if  you  do,"  finished  Miss 
Smith,  calmly. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  RAPE  OF  THE  FLEECE 

WHEN  slowly  from  the  torpor  of  ether,  one 
wakens  to  the  misty  sense  of  eternal  loss,  and 
there  comes  the  exquisite  prick  of  pain,  then 
one  feels  in  part  the  horror  of  the  ache  when  Zora  wak 
ened  to  the  world  again.  The  awakening  was  the  work  of 
days  and  weeks.  At  first  in  sheer  exhaustion,  physical 
and  mental,  she  lay  and  moaned.  The  sense  of  loss  —  of 
utter  loss  —  lay  heavy  upon  her.  Something  of  herself, 
something  dearer  than  self,  was  gone  from  her  forever, 
and  an  infinite  loneliness  and  silence,  as  of  endless  years, 
settled  on  her  soul.  She  wished  neither  food  nor  words, 
only  to  be  alone.  Then  gradually  the  pain  of  injury 
stung  her  when  the  blood  flowed  fuller.  As  Miss  Smith 
knelt  beside  her  one  night  to  make  her  simple  prayer  Zora 
sat  suddenly  upright,  white-swathed,  dishevelled,  with 
fury  in  her  midnight  eyes. 

"  I  want  no  prayers !  "  she  cried,  "  I  will  not  pray ! 
He  is  no  God  of  mine.  He  is  n't  fair.  He  knows  and 
won't  tell.  He  takes  advantage  of  us  —  He  works  and 
fools  us."  All  night  Miss  Smith  heard  mutterings  of  this 
bitterness,  and  the  next  day  the  girl  walked  her  room  like 
a  tigress, —  to  and  fro,  to  and  fro,  all  the  long  day.  To 
ward  night  a  dumb  despair  settled  upon  her.  Miss  Smith 

[181] 


182    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

found  her  sitting  by  the  window  gazing  blankly  toward 
the  swamp.  She  came  to  Miss  Smith,  slowly,  and  put  her 
hands  upon  her  shoulders  with  almost  a  caress. 

"  You  must  forgive  me,"  she  pleaded  plaintively.  "  I 
reckon  I  've  been  mighty  bad  with  you,  and  you  always 
so  good  to  me ;  but  —  but,  you  see  —  it  hurts  so." 

"  I  know  it  hurts,  dear ;  I  know  it  does.  But  men  and 
women  must  learn  to  bear  hurts  in  this  world." 

"  Not  hurts  like  this ;  they  could  n't." 

"  Yes,  even  hurts  like  this.  Bear  and  stand  straight ; 
be  brave.  After  all,  Zora,  no  man  is  quite  worth  a  wom 
an's  soul;  no  love  is  worth  a  whole  life." 

Zora  turned  away  with  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"  You  were  born  in  ice,"  she  retorted,  adding  a  bit 
more  tenderly,  "  in  clear  strong  ice ;  but  I  was  born  in 
fire.  I  live  —  I  love;  that's  all."  And  she  sat  down 
again,  despairingly,  and  stared  at  the  dull  swamp.  Miss 
Smith  stood  for  a  moment  and  closed  her  eyes  upon  a 
vision. 

"  Ice !  "  she  whispered.     "  My  God !  " 

Then,  at  length,  she  said  to  Zora: 

"  Zora,  there  's  only  one  way :  do  something ;  if  you  sit 
thus  brooding  you  '11  go  crazy." 

"Do  crazy  folks  forget?" 

"  Nonsense,  Zora !  "  Miss  Smith  ridiculed  the  girl's 
fantastic  vagaries ;  her  sound  common  sense  rallied  to  her 
aid.  "  They  are  the  people  who  remember ;  sane  folk  for 
get.  Work  is  the  only  cure  for  such  pain." 

"  But  there  's  nothing  to  do  —  nothing  I  want  to  do  - 
nothing  worth  doing  —  now." 

"The  Silver  Fleece?" 

The  girl  sat  upright. 

"  The  Silver  Fleece,"  she  murmured.     Without  further 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  FLEECE  183 

word,  slowly  she  arose  and  walked  down  the  stairs,  and 
out  into  the  swamp.  Miss  Smith  watched  her  go;  she 
knew  that  every  step  must  be  the  keen  prickle  of  awaken 
ing  flesh.  Yet  the  girl  walked  steadily  on. 

It  was  the  Christmas  —  not  Christmas-tide  of  the 
North  and  West,  but  Christmas  of  the  Southern  South. 
It  was  not  the  festival  of  the  Christ  Child,  but  a  time  of 
noise  and  frolic  and  license,  the  great  Pay-Day  of 
the  year  when  black  men  lifted  their  heads  from  a  year's 
toiling  in  the  earth,  and,  hat  in  hand,  asked  anxiously: 
"  Master,  what  have  I  earned?  Have  I  paid  my  old 
debts  to  you?  Have  I  made  my  clothes  and  food?  Have 
I  got  a  little  of  the  year's  wage  coming  to  me?  "  Or, 
more  carelessly  and  cringingly :  "  Master,  gimme  a 
Christmas  gift." 

The  lords  of  the  soil  stood  round,  gauging  their  cotton, 
measuring  their  men.  Their  stores  were  crowded,  their 
scales  groaned,  their  gins  sang.  In  the  long  run  public 
opinion  determines  all  wage,  but  in  more  primitive  times 
and  places,  private  opinion,  personal  judgment  of  some 
man  in  power,  determines.  The  Black  Belt  is  primitive 
and  the  landlord  wields  the  power. 

"  What  about  Johnson?  "  calls  the  head  clerk. 

"  Well,  he 's  a  faithful  nigger  and  needs  encourage 
ment  ;  cancel  his  debt  and  give  him  ten  dollars  for  Christ 
mas."  Colonel  Cresswell  glowed,  as  if  he  were  full  of  the 
season's  spirit. 

"And  Sanders?" 

"How's  his  cotton?" 

"  Good,  and  a  lot  of  it." 

"  He  's  trying  to  get  away.  Keep  him  in  debt,  but  let 
him  draw  what  he  wants." 


184    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"Aunt  Rachel?" 

"  H  'm,  they  're  way  behind,  aren't  they?  Give  her  a 
couple  of  dollars  —  not  a  cent  more." 

"  JimSykes?" 

"  Say,  Harry,  how  about  that  darky,  Sykes  ?  "  called 
out  the  Colonel. 

Excusing  himself  from  his  guests,  Harry  Cresswell  came 
into  the  office. 

To  them  this  peculiar  spectacle  of  the  market  place 
was  of  unusual  interest.  They  saw  its  humor  and  its 
crowding,  its  bizarre  effects  and  unwonted  pageantry. 
Black  giants  and  pigmies  were  there;  kerchiefed  aunties, 
giggling  black  girls,  saffron  beauties,  and  loafing  white 
men.  There  were  mules  and  horses  and  oxen,  wagons  and 
buggies  and  carts ;  but  above  all  and  in  all,  rushing 
through,  piled  and  flying,  bound  and  baled  —  was  cotton. 
Cotton  was  currency ;  cotton  was  merchandise ;  cotton  was 
conversation. 

All  this  was  "  beautiful "  to  Mrs.  Grey  and  "  unus 
ually  interesting  "  to  Mrs.  Vanderpool.  To  Mary  Tay 
lor  it  had  the  fascination  of  a  puzzle  whose  other  side 
she  had  already  been  partially  studying.  She  was  par 
ticularly  impressed  with  the  joy  and  abandon  of  the 
scene  —  light  laughter,  huge  guffaws,  handshakes,  and 
gossipings. 

"  At  all  events,"  she  concluded,  "  this  is  no  oppressed 
people."  And  sauntering  away  from  the  rest  she  noted 
the  smiles  of  an  undersized  smirking  yellow  man  who 
hurried  by  with  a  handful  of  dollar  bills.  At  a  side 
entrance  liquor  was  evidently  on  sale  —  men  were  drinking 
and  women,  too  ;  some  were  staggering,  others  cursing,  and 
yet  others  singing.  Then  suddenly  a  man  swung  around 
the  corner  swearing  in  bitter  rage : 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  FLEECE      185 

"  The  damned  thieves,  they  'se  stole  a  year's  work  — 
the  white  —  "  But  some  one  called,  "  Hush  up,  Sanders  ! 
There  's  a  white  woman."  And  he  threw  a  startled  look 
at  Mary  and  hurried  by.  She  was  perplexed  and  upset 
and  stood  hesitating  a  moment  when  she  heard  a  well- 
known  voice: 

"  Why,  Miss  Taylor,  I  was  alarmed  for  you ;  you 
really  must  be  careful  about  trusting  yourself  with  these 
half  drunken  Negroes." 

"  Would  n't  it  be  better  not  to  give  them  drink,  Mr. 
Cresswell?" 

"  And  let  your  neighbor  sell  them  poison  at  all  hours  ? 
No,  Miss  Taylor."  They  joined  the  others,  and  all  were 
turning  toward  the  carriage  when  a  figure  coming  down 
the  road  attracted  them. 

"  Quite  picturesque,"  observed  Mrs.  Vanderpool,  look 
ing  at  the  tall,  slim  girl  swaying  toward  them  with  a  piled 
basket  of  white  cotton  poised  lightly  on  her  head. 
"  Why,"  in  abrupt  recognition,  "  it  is  our  Venus  of  the 
Roadside,  is  it  not?  " 

Mary  saw  it  was  Zora.  Just  then,  too,  Zora  caught 
sight  of  them,  and  for  a  moment  hesitated,  then  came  on ; 
the  carriage  was  in  front  of  the  store,  and  she  was  bound 
for  the  store.  A  moment  Mary  hesitated,  too,  and  then 
turned  resolutely  to  greet  her.  But  Zora's  eyes  did  not 
see  her.  After  one  look  at  that  sorrow-stricken  face, 
Mary  turned  away. 

Colonel  Cresswell  stood  by  the  door,  his  hat  on,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets. 

"Well,  Zora,  what  have  you  there?"  he  asked. 

"  Cotton,  sir." 

Harry  Cresswell  bent  over  it. 

"  Great  heavens  !    Look  at  this  cotton !  "  he  ejaculated. 


186   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

His  father  approached.  The  cotton  lay  in  silken  hand- 
fuls,  clean  and  shimmering,  with  threads  full  two  inches 
long.  The  idlers,  black  and  white,  clustered  round,  gaz 
ing  at  it,  and  fingering  it  with  repeated  exclamations  of 
astonishment. 

"  Where  did  this  come  from  ? "  asked  the  Colonel 
sharply.  He  and  Harry  were  both  eying  the  girl  intently. 

"  I  raised  it  in  the  swamp,"  Zora  replied  quietly,  in  a 
dead  voice.  There  was  no  pride  of  achievement  in  her 
manner,  no  gladness ;  all  that  had  flown. 

"  Is  that  all?  " 

"No,  sir;  I  think  there's  two  bales." 

"Two  bales!  Where  is  it?  How  the  devil  —  "  The 
Colonel  was  forgetting  his  guests,  but  Harry  intervened. 

"  You  '11  need  to  get  it  picked  right  off,"  he  suggested. 

"  It 's  all  picked,  sir." 

"But  where  is  it?" 

"  If  you  '11  sencl  a  wagon,  sir  —  " 

But  the  Colonel  hardly  waited. 

"  Here  you,  Jim,  take  the  big  mules  and  drive  like  — 
Where  's  that  wench  ?  " 

But  Zora  was  already  striding  on  ahead,  and  was  far 
up  the  red  road  when  the  great  mules  galloped  into  sight 
and  the  long  whip  snapped  above  their  backs.  The 
Colonel  was  still  excited. 

"  That  cotton  must  be  ours,  Harry  —  all  of  it.  And 
see  that  none  is  stolen.  We  've  got  no  contract  with  the 
wench,  so  don't  dally  with  her."  But  Harry  said  firmly, 
'quietly: 

"  It 's  fine  cotton,  and  she  raised  it ;  she  must  be  paid 
well  for  it."  Colonel  Cresswell  glanced  at  him  with  some 
thing  between  contempt  and  astonishment  on  his  face. 

"  You  go  along  with  the  ladies,"  Harry  added ;  "  I  '11 
see  to  this  cotton."  Mary  Taylor's  smile  had  rewarded 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  FLEECE  187 

him ;  now  he  must  get  rid  of  his  company  —  before  Zora 
returned. 

It  was  dark  when  the  cotton  came ;  such  a  load  as  Cress- 
well's  store  had  never  seen  before.  Zora  watched  it 
weighed,  received  the  cotton  checks,  and  entered  the  store. 
Only  the  clerk  was  there,  and  he  was  closing.  He  pointed 
her  carelessly  to  the  office  in  the  back  part.  She  went 
into  the  small  dim  room,  and  laying  the  cotton-check  on 
the  desk,  stood  waiting.  Slowly  the  hopelessness  and 
bitterness  of  it  all  came  back  in  a  great  whelming  flood. 
What  was  the  use  of  trying  for  anything?  She  was  lost 
forever.  The  world  was  against  her,  and  again  she  saw 
the  fingers  of  Elspeth  —  the  long  black  claw-like  talons 
that  clutched  and  dragged  her  down  —  down.  She  did 
not  struggle  —  she  dropped  her  hands  listlessly,  wearily, 
and  stood  but  half  conscious  as  the  door  opened  and  Mr. 
Harry  Cresswell  entered  the  dimly  lighted  room.  She 
opened  her  eyes.  She  had  expected  his  father.  Some 
where  way  down  in  the  depths  of  her  nature  the  primal 
tiger  awoke  and  snarled.  She  was  suddenly  alive  from 
hair  to  finger  tip.  Harry  Cresswell  paused  a  second  and 
swept  her  full  length  with  his  eye  —  her  profile,  the  long 
supple  line  of  bosom  and  hip,  the  little  foot.  Then  he 
closed  the  door  softly  and  walked  slowly  toward  her.  She 
stood  like  stone,  without  a  quiver;  only  her  eye  followed 
the  crooked  line  of  the  Cresswell  blue  blood  on  his  marble 
forehead  as  she  looked  down  from  her  greater  height ;  her 
hand  closed  almost  caressingly  on  a  rusty  poker  lying  on 
the  stove  nearby ;  and  as  she  sensed  the  hot  breath  of  him 
she  felt  herself  purring  in  a  half  heard  whisper. 

"  I  should  not  like  —  to  kill  you." 

He  looked  at  her  long  and  steadily  as  he  passed  to  his 
desk.  Slowly  he  lighted  a  cigarette,  opened  the  great 
ledger,  and  compared  the  cotton-check  with  it. 


188    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  Three  thousand  pounds,"  he  announced  in  a  careless 
tone.  "  Yes,  that  will  make  about  two  bales  of  lint.  It  *s 
extra  cotton  —  say  fifteen  cents  a  pound  —  one  hundred 
fifty  dollars  —  seventy-five  dollars  to  you  —  h  'm."  He 
took  a  note-book  out  of  his  pocket,  pushed  his  hat  back 
on  his  head,  and  paused  to  relight  his  cigarette. 

"  Let 's  see  —  your  rent  and  rations  —  " 

"  Elspeth  pays  no  rent,"  she  said  slowly,  but  he  did 
not  seem  to  hear. 

"  Your  rent  and  rations  with  the  five  years'  back  debt," 
—  he  made  a  hasty  calculation  —  "  will  be  one  hundred 
dollars.  That  leaves  you  twenty-five  in  our  debt.  Here  's 
your  receipt." 

The  blow  had  fallen.  She  did  not  wince  nor  cry  out. 
She  took  the  receipt,  calmly,  and  walked  out  into  the  dark 
ness. 

They  had  stolen  the  Silver  Fleece. 

What  should  she  do?  She  never  thought  of  appeal  to 
courts,  for  Colonel  Cresswell  was  Justice  of  the  Peace  and 
his  son  was  bailiff.  Why  had  they  stolen  from  her?  She 
knew.  She  was  now  penniless,  and  in  a  sense  helpless. 
She  was  now  a  peon  bound  to  a  master's  bidding.  If 
Elspeth  chose  to  sign  a  contract  of  work  for  her  to-mor 
row,  it  would  mean  slavery,  jail,  or  hounded  running 
away.  What  would  Elspeth  do?  One  never  knew. 
Zora  walked  on.  An  hour  ago  it  seemed  that  this  last 
blow  must  have  killed  her.  But  now  it  was  different.  In 
to  her  first  despair  had  crept,  in  one  fierce  moment,  grim 
determination.  Somewhere  in  the  world  sat  a  great  dim 
Injustice  which  had  veiled  the  light  before  her  young  eyes, 
just  as  she  raised  them  to  the  morning.  With  the  veiling, 
death  had  come  into  her  heart. 

And  yet,  they  should  not  kill  her;  they  should  not  en- 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  FLEECE      189 

slave  her.  A  desperate  resolve  to  find  some  way  up  to 
ward  the  light,  if  not  to  it,  formed  itself  within  her.  She 
would  not  fall  into  the  pit  opening  before  her.  Somehow, 
somewhere  lay  The  Way.  She  must  never  fall  lower; 
never  be  utterly  despicable  in  the  eyes  of  the  man  she  had 
loved.  There  was  no  dream  of  forgiveness,  of  purifica 
tion,  of  re-kindled  love;  all  these  she  placed  sadly  and 
gently  into  the  dead  past.  But  in  awful  earnestness,  she 
turned  toward  the  future;  struggling  blindly,  groping  in 
half  formed  plans  for  a  way. 

She  came  thus  into  the  room  where  sat  Miss  Smith, 
strangely  pallid  beneath  her  dusky  skin.  But  there  lay 
a  light  in  her  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  COTTON  CORNER 

ALL  over  the  land  the  cotton  had  foamed  in  great 
white  flakes  under  the  winter  sun.  The  Silver 
Fleece  lay  like  a  mighty  mantle  across  the  earth. 
Black  men  and  mules  had  staggered  beneath  its  burden, 
while  deep  songs  welled  in  the  hearts  of  men;  for  the 
Fleece  was  goodly  and  gleaming  and  soft,  and  men  dreamed 
of  the  gold  that  it  would  buy.  All  the  roads  in  the  coun 
try  had  been  lined  with  wagons  —  a  million  wagons  speed 
ing  to  and  fro  with  straining  mules  and  laughing 
black  men,  bearing  bubbling  masses  of  piled  white  Fleece. 
The  gins  were  still  roaring  and  spitting  flames  and 
smoke  —  fifty  thousand  of  them  in  town  and  vale.  Then 
hoarse  iron  throats  were  filled  with  fifteen  billion  pounds 
of  white-fleeced,  black-specked  cotton,  for  the  whirling  saws 
to  tear  out  the  seed  and  fling  five  thousand  million  pounds 
of  the  silken  fibre  to  the  press. 

And  there  again  the  black  men  sang,  like  dark  earth- 
spirits  flitting  in  twilight;  the  presses  creaked  and 
groaned;  closer  and  closer  they  pressed  the  silken  fleece. 
It  quivered,  trembled,  and  then  lay  cramped,  dead,  and 
still,  in  massive,  hard,  square  bundles,  tied  with  iron 
strings.  Out  fell  the  heavy  bales,  thousand  upon  thou 
sand,  million  upon  million,  until  they  settled  over  the 

[190] 


THE  COTTON  CORNER  191 

South  like  some  vast  dull-white  swarm  of  birds.  Colonel 
Cresswell  and  his  son,  in  these  days,  had  a  long  and 
earnest  conversation  perforated  here  and  there  by  ex 
plosions  of  the  Colonel's  wrath.  The  Colonel  could  not 
understand  some  things. 

"They  want  us  to  revive  the  Farmers'  League?"  he 
fiercely  demanded. 

"  Yes,"  Harry  calmly  replied. 

"  And  throw  the  rest  of  our  capital  after  the  fifty 
thousand  dollars  we  've  already  lost?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  were  fool  enough  to  consent  —  " 

"  Wait,  Father  —  and  don't  get  excited.  Listen. 
Cotton  is  going  up  —  ': 

"  Of  course  it 's  going  up !  Short  crop  and  big 
demand  —  " 

"  Cotton  is  going  up,  and  then  it 's  going  to  fall." 

"  I  don't  believe  it." 

"  I  know  it ;  the  trust  has  got  money  and  credit  enough 
to  force  it  down." 

"Well,  what  then?"     The  Colonel  glared. 

"  Then  somebody  will  corner  it." 

"  The  Farmers'  League  won't  stand  — 

"  Precisely.  The  Farmers'  League  can  do  the  corner 
ing  and  hold  it  for  higher  prices." 

"  Lord,  son !  if  we  only  could !  "  groaned  the  Colonel. 

"  We  can;  we  '11  have  unlimited  credit." 

"  But  —  but  —  "  stuttered  the  bewildered  Colonel,  "  I 
don't  understand.  Why  should  the  trust  —  " 

"  Nonsense,  Father  —  what 's  the  use  of  understand 
ing.  Our  advantage  is  plain,  and  John  Taylor  guar 
antees  the  thing." 


192    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  Who  's  John  Taylor?  "  snorted  the  Colonel.  "  Why 
should  we  trust  him?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Harry  slowly,  "  he  wants  to  marry 
Helen  —  " 

His  father  grew  apopletic. 

"  I  'm  not  saying  he  will,  Father ;  I  'm  only  saying  that 
he  wants  to,"  Harry  made  haste  to  placate  the  rising  tide 
of  wrath. 

"  No  Southern  gentleman  —  "  began  the  Colonel.  But 
Harry  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Which  is  better,  to  be  crushed  by  the  trust  or  to  es 
cape  at  their  expense,  even  if  that  escape  involves  unwar 
ranted  assumptions  on  the  part  of  one  of  them?  I  tell 
you,  Father,  the  code  of  the  Southern  gentleman  won't 
work  in  Wall  Street." 

"  And  I  '11  tell  you  why  —  there  are  no  Southern  gentle 
men,"  growled  his  father. 

The  Silver  Fleece  was  golden,  for  its  prices  were  flying 
aloft.  Mr.  Caldwell  told  Colonel  Cresswell  that  he  con 
fidently  expected  twelve-cent  cotton. 

"  The  crop  is  excellent  and  small,  scarcely  ten  million 
bales,"  he  declared.  "  The  price  is  bound  to  go  up." 

Colonel  Cresswell  was  hesitant,  even  doubtful;  the  de 
mand  for  cotton  at  high  prices  usually  fell  off  rapidly  and 
he  had  heard  rumors  of  curtailed  mill  production.  While, 
then,  he  hoped  for  high  prices  he  advised  the  Farmers' 
League  to  be  on  guard. 

Mr.  Caldwell  seemed  to  be  right,  for  cotton  rose  to  ten 
cents  a  pound  —  ten  and  a  half  —  eleven  —  and  then  the 
South  began  to  see  visions  and  to  dream  dreams. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Maxwell,  whose  lands  lay 
next  the  Cresswells'  on  the  northwest,  "  yes,  if  cotton 
goes  to  twelve  or  thirteen  cents  as  seems  probable,  I 


THE  COTTON  CORNER  193 

think  we  can  begin  the  New  House  "  —  for  Mrs.  Max 
well's  cherished  dream  was  a  pillared  mansion  like  the 
Cresswclls'. 

Mr.  Tolliver  looked  at  his  house  and  barns.  "  Well, 
daughter,  if  this  crop  sells  at  twelve  cents,  I  '11  be  on  my 
feet  again,  and  I  won't  have  to  sell  that  land  to  the  nigger 
school  after  all.  Once  out  of  the  clutch  of  the  Cress- 
wells  —  well,  I  think  we  can  have  a  coat  of  paint."  And 
he  laughed  as  he  had  not  laughed  in  ten  years. 

Down  in  the  bottoms  west  of  the  swamp  a  man  and 
woman  were  figuring  painfully  on  an  old  slate.  He  was 
light  brown  and  she  was  yellow. 

"  Honey,"  he  said  tremblingly,  "  I  b'lieve  we  can  do 
it  —  if  cotton  goes  to  twelve  cents,  we  can  pay  the 
mortgage." 

Two  miles  north  of  the  school  an  old  black  woman  was 
shouting  and  waving  her  arms.  "  If  cotton  goes  to 
twelve  cents  we  can  pay  out  and  be  free !  "  and  she  threw 
her  apron  over  her  head  and  wept,  gathering  her  chil 
dren  in  her  arms. 

But  even  as  she  cried  a  flash  and  tremor  shook  the 
South.  Far  away  to  the  north  a  great  spider  sat  weaving 
his  web.  The  office  looked  down  from  the  clouds  on 
lower  Broadway,  and  was  soft  with  velvet  and  leather. 
Swift,  silent  messengers  hurried  in  and  out,  and  Mr. 
Easterly,  deciding  the  time  was  ripe,  called  his  henchman 
to  him. 

"  Taylor,  we  're  ready  —  go  South." 

And  John  Taylor  rose,  shook  hands  silently,  and  went. 

As  he  entered  Cresswell's  plantation  store  three  days 
later,  a  colored  woman  with  a  little  boy  turned  sadly 
away  from  the  counter. 

"  No,  aunty,"  the  clerk  was  telling  her,  "  calico  is  too 


194    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

high;  can't  let  you  have  any  till  we  see  how  your  cotton 
comes  out." 

"I  just  wanted  a  bit;  I  promised  the  boy  —  " 

"  Go  on,  go  on  —  Why,  Mr.  Taylor !  "  And  the  little 
boy  burst  into  tears  while  he  wras  hurried  out. 

"  Tightening  up  on  the  tenants  ?  "  asked  Taylor. 

"  Yes ;  these  niggers  are  mighty  extravagant.  Besides, 
cotton  fell  a  little  to-day  —  eleven  to  ten  and  three- 
fourths;  just  a  flurry,  I  reckon.  Had  you  heard?  " 

Mr.  Taylor  said  he  had  heard,  and  he  hurried  on. 
Next  morning  the  long  shining  wires  of  that  great  Broad 
way  web  trembled  and  flashed  again  and  cotton  went  to 
ten  cents. 

"  No  house  this  year,  I  fear,"  quoth  Mr.  Maxwell, 
bitterly. 

The  next  day  nine  and  a  half  was  the  quotation,  and 
men  began  to  look  at  each  other  and  asked  questions. 

"  Paper  says  the  crop  is  larger  than  the  government 
estimate,"  said  Tolliver,  and  added,  "  There  '11  be  no 
painting  this  year."  He  looked  toward  the  Smith  School 
and  thought  of  the  five  thousand  dollars  waiting;  but 
he  hesitated.  John  Taylor  had  carefully  mentioned  seven 
thousand  dollars  as  a  price  he  was  willing  to  pay  and 
"perhaps  more."  Was  Cresswell  back  of  Taylor?  Tol 
liver  was  suspicious  and  moved  to  delay  matters. 

"  It 's  manipulation  and  speculation  in  New  York," 
said  Colonel  Cresswell,  "  and  the  Farmers'  League  must 
begin  operations." 

The  local  paper  soon  had  an  editorial  on  "  our  dis 
tinguished  fellow  citizen,  Colonel  Cresswell,"  and  his 
efforts  to  revive  the  Farmers'  League.  It  was  under 
stood  that  Colonel  Cresswell  was  risking  his  whole  pri 
vate  fortune  to  hold  the  price  of  cotton,  and  some  effort 


THE  COTTON  CORNER  195 

seemed  to  be  needed,  for  cotton  dropped  to  nine  cents 
within  a  week.  Swift  negotiations  ensued,  and  a  meet 
ing  of  the  executive  committee  of  the  Farmers'  League 
was  held  in  Montgomery.  A  system  of  warehouses  and 
warehouse  certificates  was  proposed. 

"  But  that  will  cost  money,"  responded  each  of  the 
dozen  big  landlords  who  composed  the  committee;  where 
upon  Harry  Cresswell  introduced  John  Taylor,  who  rep 
resented  thirty  millions  of  Southern  bank  stock. 

"  I  promise  you  credit  to  any  reasonable  amount,"  said 
Mr.  Taylor,  "  I  believe  in  cotton  —  the  present  price  is 
abnormal."  And  Mr.  Taylor  knew  whereof  he  spoke,  for 
when  he  sent  a  cipher  despatch  North,  cotton  dropped 
to  eight  and  a  half.  The  Farmers'  League  leased  three 
warehouses  at  Savannah,  Montgomery,  and  New  Orleans. 
r  Then  silently  the  South  gripped  itself  and  prepared 
for  battle.  Men  stopped  spending,  business  grew  dull, 
and  millions  of  eyes  were  glued  to  the  blackboards  of 
the  cotton-exchange.  Tighter  and  tighter  the  reins  grew 
on  the  backs  of  the  black  tenants. 

"Miss  Smith,  is  yo'  got  just  a'drap  of  coffee  to  lend 
me?  Mr.  Cresswell  won't  give  me  none  at  the  store  and 
I'se  just  starving  for  some,"  said  Aunt  Rachel  from  over 
the  hill.  "  We  won't  git  free  this  year,  Miss  Smith,  not 
this  year,"  she  concluded  plaintively. 

Cotton  fell  to  seven  and  a  half  cents  andfthe  muttered 
protest  became  angry  denunciation.  Why  was  it?  Who 
was  doing  it?3 

Harry  Cresswell  went  to  Montgomery.  He  was  get 
ting  nervous.  The  thing  was  too  vast.  He  could  not 
grasp  it.  It  set  his  head  in  a  whirl.  Harry  Cresswell 
was  not  a  bad  man  —  are  there  any  bad  men  ?  He  was 
a  man  who  from  the  day  he  first  wheedled  his  black  mammy 


196    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

into  submission,  down  to  his  thirty-sixth  year,  had  sel 
dom  known  what  it  was  voluntarily  to  deny  himself  or 
curb  a  desire.  To  rise  when  he  would,  eat  what  he  craved, 
and  do  what  the  passing  fancy  suggested  had  long  been 
his  day's  programme.  Such  emptiness  of  life  and  aim 
had  to  be  filled,  and  it  was  filled;  he  helped  his  father 
sometimes  with  the  plantations,  but  he  helped  spasmodi 
cally  and  played  at  work. 

The  unregulated  fire  of  energy  and  delicacy  of 
nervous  poise  within  him  continually  hounded  him  to  the 
verge  of  excess  and  sometimes  beyond.  Cool,  quiet,  and 
gentlemanly  as  he  was  by  rule  of  his  clan,  the  ice  was 
thin  and  underneath  raged  unappeased  fires.  He  craved 
the  madness  of  alcohol  in  his  veins  till  his  delicate  hands 
trembled  of  mornings.  The  women  whom  he  bent  above 
in  languid,  veiled-eyed  homage,  feared  lest  they  love  him, 
and  what  work  was  to  others  gambling  was  to  him. 

The  Cotton  Combine,  then,  appealed  to  him  overpower- 
ingly  —  to  his  passion  for  wealth,  to  his  passion  for 
gambling.  But  once  entered  upon  the  game  it  drove 
him  to  fear  and  frenzy:  first,  it  was  a  long  game  and 
Harry  Cresswell  was  not  trained  to  waiting,  and,  secondly, 
it  was  a  game  whose  intricacies  he  did  not  know.  In  vain 
did  he  try  to  study  the  matter  through.  He  ordered 
books  from  the  North,  he  subscribed  for  financial  journals, 
he  received  special  telegraphic  reports  only  to  toss  them 
away,  curse  his  valet,  and  call  for  another  brandy.  After 
all,  he  kept  saying  to  himself,  what  guarantee,  what 
knowledge  had  he  that  this  was  not  a  "  damned  Yankee 
trick  "  ? 

Now  that  the  web  was  weaving  its  last  mesh  in  early 
January  he  haunted  Montgomery,  and  on  this  day  when 
it  seemed  that  things  must  culminate  or  he  would 


THE  COTTON  CORNER  197 

go  mad,  he  hastened  again  down  to  the  Planters'  Hotel 
and  was  quickly  ushered  to  John  Taylor's  room.  The 
place  was  filled  with  tobacco  smoke.  An  electric  ticker 
was  drumming  away  in  one  corner,  a  telephone  ringing 
on  the  desk,  and  messenger  boys  hovered  outside  the  door 
and  raced  to  and  fro. 

"  Well,"  asked  Cresswell,  maintaining  his  composure  by 
an  effort,  "  how  are  things  ?  " 

"  Great !  "  returned  Taylor.  "  League  holds  three 
million  bales  and  controls  five.  It 's  the  biggest  corner 
in  years." 

"But  how's  cotton?" 

"  Ticker  says  six  and  three-fourths." 

Cresswell  sat  down  abruptly  opposite  Taylor,  looking 
at  him  fixedly. 

"  That  last  drop  means  liabilities  of  a  hundred  thou 
sand  to  us,"  he  said  slowly. 

"Exactly,"  Taylor  blandly  admitted. 

Beads  of  sweat  gathered  on  Cresswell's  forehead.  He 
looked  at  the  scrawny  iron  man  opposite,  who  had  al 
ready  forgotten  his  presence.  He  ordered  whiskey,  and 
taking  paper  and  pencil  began  to  figure,  drinking  as  he 
figured.  Slowly  the  blood  crept  out  of  his  white  face 
leaving  it  whiter,  and  went  surging  and  pounding  in  his 
heart.  Poverty  —  that  was  what  those  figures  spelled. 
Poverty  —  unclothed,  wineless  poverty,  to  dig  and  toil 
like  a  "  nigger  "  from  morning  until  night,  and  to  give 
up  horses  and  carriages  and  women;  that  was  what  they 
spelled. 

"  How  much  —  farther  will  it  drop  ?  "  he  asked  harshly. 

Taylor  did  not  look  up. 

"  Can't  tell,"  he  said,  "  '  fraid  not  much  though."  He 
glanced  through  a  telegram.  "  No  —  damn  it !  —  out- 


198   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

side  mills  are  low ;  they  '11  stampede  soon.  Meantime 
we  '11  buy." 

"But,  Taylor  —  " 

"  Here  are  one  hundred  thousand  offered  at  six  and 
three- fourths." 

"  I  tell  you,  Taylor  —  "  Cresswell  half  arose. 

"  Done !  "  cried  Taylor.  "  Six  and  one-half,"  clicked 
the  machine. 

Cresswell  arose  from  his  chair  by  the  window  and 
came  slowly  to  the  wide  flat  desk  where  Taylor  was  work 
ing  feverishly.  He  sat  down  heavily  in  the  chair  oppo 
site  and  tried  quietly  to  regain  his  self-control.  The 
liabilities  of  the  Cresswells  already  amounted  to  half  the 
value  of  their  property,  at  a  fair  market  valuation.  The 
cotton  for  which  they  had  made  debts  was  still  falling 
in  value.  Every  fourth  of  a  cent  fall  meant  —  he  figured 
it  again  tremblingly  —  meant  one  hundred  thousand  more 
of  liabilities.  If  cotton  fell  to  six  he  had  n't  a  cent  on 
earth.  If  it  stayed  there  —  "  My  God !  "  He  felt  a  faint- 
ness  stealing  over  him  but  he  beat  it  back  and  gulped 
down  another  glass  of  fiery  liquor. 

Then  the  one  protecting  instinct  of  his  clan  gripped 
him.  Slowly,  quietly  his  hand  moved  back  until  it 
grasped  the  hilt  of  the  big  Colt's  revolver  that  was  ever 
with  him  —  his  thin  white  hand  became  suddenly  steady  as 
it  slipped  the  weapon  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  desk. 

"  If  it  goes  to  six,"  he  kept  murmuring,  "  we  're 
ruined  —  if  it  goes  to  six  —  if  — 

"  Tick,"  sounded  the  wheel  and  the  sound  reverberated 
like  sudden  thunder  in  his  ears.  His  hand  was  iron,  and 
he  raised  it  slightly.  "  Six,"  said  the  wheel  —  his  finger 
quivered  —  "  and  a  half." 

"  Hell !  "  yelled  Taylor.     "  She  's  turned  —  there  '11  be 


THE  COTTON  CORNER  199 

the  devil  to  pay  now."    A  messenger  burst  in  and  Taylor 
scowled. 

"  She  's  loose  in  New  York  —  a  regular  mob  in  New 
Orleans  —  and  —  hark !  —  By  God !  there  's  something 
doing  here.  Damn  it  —  I  wish  we  'd  got  another  million 
bales.  Let 's  see,  we  've  got  —  -  "  He  figured  while  the 
wheel  whirred  —  "  7  —  7%  —  8  —  8l/2." 

Cresswell  listened,  staggered  to  his  feet,  his  face  crim 
son  and  his  hair  wild. 

"  My  God,  Taylor,"  he  gasped,  "  I  'm  —  I  'm  a  half 
a  million  ahead  —  great  heavens  !  " 

The  ticker  whirred,  "83/4  —  9  —  91/2  —  10."  Then 
it  stopped  dead. 

"  Exchange  closed,"  said  Taylor.  "  We  've  cornered 
the  market  all  right  —  cornered  it  —  d'ye  hear,  Cress- 
well?  We  got  over  half  the  crop  and  we  can  send  prices 
to  the  North  Star  —  you  —  why,  I  figure  it  you  Cress- 
wells  are  worth  at  least  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
above  liabilities  this  minute,"  and  John  Taylor  leaned 
back  and  lighted  a  big  black  cigar. 

"  I  've  made  a  million  or  so  myself,"  he  added  reflec 
tively. 

Cresswell  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  his  face  had  gone 
white  again,  and  he  spoke  slowly  to  still  the  tremor  in 
his  voice. 

"  I  've  gambled  —  before ;  I  've  gambled  on  cards  and 
on  horses ;  I  've  gambled  —  for  money  —  and  —  women  — 
but  —  " 

"  But  not  on  cotton,  hey  ?  Well,  I  don't  know  about 
cards  and  such;  but  they  can't  beat  cotton." 

"  And  say,  John  Taylor,  you  're  my  friend."  Cress- 
well  stretched  his  hand  across  the  desk,  and  as  he  bent 
forward  the  pistol  crashed  to  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  DYING  OF  ELSPETH 

RICH !  This  was  the  thought  that  awakened  Harry 
Cresswell  to  a  sense  of  endless  well-being.  Rich ! 
No  longer  the  mirage  and  semblance  of  wealth,  the 
memory  of  opulence,  the  shadow  of  homage  without  the 
substance  of  power  —  no;  now  the  wealth  was  real,  cold 
hard  dollars,  and  in  piles.  How  much?  He  laughed 
aloud  as  he  turned  on  his  pillow.  What  did  he  care? 
Enough  —  enough.  Not  less  than  half  a  million ;  per 
haps  three-quarters  of  a  million ;  perhaps  —  was  not 
cotton  still  rising?  —  a  whole  round  million!  That  would 
mean  from  twenty-five  to  fifty  thousand  a  year.  Great 
heavens !  and  he  'd  been  starving  on  a  bare  couple  of 
thousand  and  trying  to  keep  up  appearances !  To-day 
the  Cresswells  were  almost  millionaires ;  aye,  and  he  might 
be  married  to  more  millions. 

He  sat  up  with  a  start.  To-day  Mary  was  going 
North.  He  had  quite  forgotten  it  in  the  wild  excitement 
of  the  cotton  corner.  He  had  neglected  her.  Of  course, 
there  was  always  the  hovering  doubt  as  to  whether  he 
really  wanted  her  or  not.  She  had  the  form  and  carriage ; 
her  beauty,  while  not  startling,  was  young  and  fresh  arid 
firm.  On  the  other  hand  there  was  about  her  a  certain 
independence  that  he  did  not  like  to  associate  with  wo- 

[200] 


THE  DYING  OF  ELSPETH  201 

men.  She  had  thoughts  and  notions  of  the  world  which 
were,  to  his  Southern  training,  hardly  feminine.  And 
yet  even  they  piqued  him  and  spurred  him  like  the  sight 
of  an  untrained  colt.  He  had  not  seen  her  falter  yet 
beneath  his  glances  or  tremble  at  his  touch.  All  this  he 
desired  —  ardently  desired.  But  did  he  desire  her  as 
a  wife?  He  rather  thought  that  he  did.  And  if  so  he 
must  speak  to-day. 

There  was  his  father,  too,  to  reckon  with.  Colonel 
Cresswell,  with  the  perversity  of  the  simple-minded,  had 
taken  the  sudden  bettering  of  their  fortunes  as  his  own 
doing.  He  had  foreseen;  he  had  stuck  it  out;  his  credit 
had  pulled  the  thing  through ;  and  the  trust  had  learned  a 
thing  or  two  about  Southern  gentlemen. 

Toward  John  Taylor  he  perceptibly  warmed.  His 
business  methods  were  such  as  a  Cresswell  could  never 
stoop  to ;  but  he  was  a  man  of  his  word,  and  Colonel  Cress- 
well's  correspondence  with  Mr.  Easterly  opened  his  eyesr 
to  the  beneficent  ideals  of  Northern  capital.  At  the 
same  time  he  could  not  consider  the  Easterlys  and  the 
Taylors  and  such  folk  as  the  social  equals  of  the  Cress- 
wells,  and  his  prejudice  on  this  score  must  still  be  reck 
oned  with. 

Below,  Mary  Taylor  lingered  on  the  porch  in  strange 
uncertainty.  Harry  Cresswell  would  soon  be  coming 
downstairs.  Did  she  want  him  to  find  her  ?  She  liked  him 
frankly,  undisguisedly ;  but  from  the  love  she  knew  to 
be  so  near  her  heart  she  recoiled  in  perturbation.  He 
wooed  her  —  whether  consciously  or  not,  she  was  always 
uncertain  —  with  every  quiet  attention  and  subtle  defer 
ence,  with  a  devotion  seemingly  quite  too  delicate  for 
words ;  he  not  only  fetched  her  flowers,  but  flowers  that 
chimed  with  day  and  gown  and  season  —  almost  with 


202   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

mood.  He  had  a  woman's  premonitions  in  fulfilling  her 
wishes.  His  hands,  if  they  touched  her,  were  soft  and 
tender,  and  yet  he  gave  a  curious  impression  of  strength 
and  poise  and  will. 

Indeed,  in  all  things  he  was  in  her  eyes  a  gentleman  in 
the  fine  old-fashioned  aristocracy  of  the  term;  her  own 
heart  voiced  all  he  did  not  say,  and  pleaded  for  him  to 
her  own  confusion. 

And  yet,  in  her  heart,  lay  the  awful  doubt  —  and  the 
words  kept  ringing  in  her  ears !  "  You  will  marry  this 
man  —  but  heaven  help  you  if  you  do !  " 

So  it  was  that  on  this  day  when  she  somehow  felt  he 
would  speak,  his  footsteps  on  the  stairs  filled  her  with 
sudden  panic.  Without  a  word  she  slipped  behind  the 
pillars  and  ran  down  among  the  oaks  and  sauntered  out 
upon  the  big  road.  He  caught  the  white  flutter  of  her 
dress,  and  smiled  indulgently  as  he  watched  and  waited 
and  lightly  puffed  his  cigarette. 

The  morning  was  splendid  with  that  first  delicious 
languor  of  the  spring  which  breathes  over  the  Southland 
in  February.  Mary  Taylor  filled  her  lungs,  lifted  her 
arms  aloft,  and  turning,  stepped  into  the  deep  shadow  of 
the  swamp. 

Abruptly  the  air,  the  day,  the  scene  about  her  subtly 
changed.  She  felt  a  closeness  and  a  tremor,  a  certain 
brooding  terror  in  the  languid  sombre  winds.  The  gold 
of  the  sunlight  faded  to  a  sickly  green,  and  the  earth 
was  black  and  burned.  A  moment  she  paused  and  looked 
back;  she  caught  the  man's  silhouette  against  the  tall 
white  pillars  of  the  mansion  and  she  fled  deeper  into  the 
forest  with  the  hush  of  death  about  her,  and  the  silence 
which  is  one  great  Voice.  Slowly,  and  mysteriously  it 
loomed  before  her  —  that  squat  and  darksome  cabin  which 


THE  DYING  OF  ELSPETH 

seemed  so  fitly  set  in  the  centre  of  the  wilderness,  beside 
its  crawling  slime. 

She  paused  in  sudden  certainty  that  there  lay  the  an 
swer  to  her  doubts  and  mistrust.  She  felt  impelled  to 
go  forward  and  ask  —  what  ?  She  did  not  know,  but  some 
thing  to  still  this  war  in  her  bosom.  She  had  seldom  seen 
Elspeth;  she  had  never  been  in  her  cabin.  She  had  felt 
an  inconquerable  aversion  for  the  evil  hag ;  she  felt  it  now, 
and  shivered  in  the  warm  breeze. 

As  she  came  in  full  view  of  the  door,  she  paused.  On 
the  step  of  the  cabin,  framed  in  the  black  doorway,  stood 
Zora.  Measured  by  the  squat  cabin  she  seemed  in  height 
colossal;  slim,  straight  as  a  pine,  motionless,  with  one 
long  outstretched  arm  pointing  to  where  the  path  swept 
onward  toward  the  town. 

It  was  too  far  for  words  but  the  scene  lay  strangely 
clear  and  sharp-cut  in  the  green  mystery  of  the  sun 
light.  Before  that  motionless,  fateful  figure  crouched  a 
slighter,  smaller  woman,  dishevelled,  clutching  her  breast; 
she  bent  and  rose  —  hesitated  —  seemed  to  plead ;  then 
turning,  clasped  in  passionate  embrace  the  child  whose 
head  was  hid  in  Zora's  gown.  Next  instant  she  was  stag 
gering  along  the  path  whither  Zora  pointed. 

Slowly  the  sun  was  darkened,  and  plaintive  murmur- 
ings  pulsed  through  the  wood.  The  oppression  and  fear 
of  the  swamp  redoubled  in  Mary  Taylor. 

Zora  gave  no  sign  of  having  seen  her.  She  stood  tall 
and  still,  and  the  little  golden-haired  girl  still  sobbed  in 
her  gown.  Mary  Taylor  looked  up  into  Zora's  face,  then 
paused  in  awe.  It  was  a  face  she  did  not  know;  it  was 
neither  the  beautifully  mischievous  face  of  the  girl,  nor 
the  pain-stricken  face  of  the  woman.  It  was  a  face  cold 
and  mask-like,  regular  and  comely;  clothed  in  a  mighty 


204    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

calm,  yet  subtly,  masterfully  veiling  behind  itself  depths 
of  unfathomed  misery  and  wild  revolt.  All  this  lay  in 
its  darkness. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Taylor." 

Mary,  who  was  wont  to  teach  this  woman  —  so  lately 
a  child  —  searched  in  vain  for  words  to  address  her  now. 
She  stood  bare-haired  and  hesitating  in  the  pale  green 
light  of  the  darkened  morning.  It  seemed  fit  that  a  deep 
groan  of  pain  should  gather  itself  from  the  mysterious 
depths  of  the  swamp,  and  drop  like  a  pall  on  the  black 
portal  of  the  cabin.  But  it  brought  Mary  Taylor  back 
to  a  sense  of  things,  and  under  a  sudden  impulse  she 
spoke. 

"  Is  —  is  anything  the  matter  ?  "  she  asked  nervously. 

"  Elspeth  is  sick,"  replied  Zora. 

"Is  she  very  sick?" 

"  Yes  —  she  has  been  called,"  solemnly  returned  the 
dark  young  woman. 

Mary  was  puzzled.     "  Called?  "  she  repeated  vaguely. 

"  We  heard  the  great  cry  in  the  night,  and  Elspeth 
says  it  is  the  End." 

It  did  not  occur  to  Mary  Taylor  to  question  this  mys 
ticism  ;  she  all  at  once  understood  —  perhaps  read  the 
riddle  in  the  dark,  melancholy  eyes  that  so  steadily 
regarded  her. 

"  Then  you  can  leave  the  place,  Zora  ?  "  she  exclaimed 
gladly. 

"  Yes,  I  could  leave." 

"  And  you  will." 

"I  don't  know." 

"  But   the  place  looks  —  evil." 

"  It  is  evil." 

"And  yet  you  will  stay?" 


THE  DYING  OF  ELSPETH  205 

Zora's  eyes  were  now  fixed  far  above  the  woman's 
head,  and  she  saw  a  human  face  forming  itself  in  the 
vast  rafters  of  the  forest.  Its  eyes  were  wet  with  pain 
and  anger. 

"  Perhaps,"   she  answered. 

The  child  furtively  uncovered  her  face  and  looked  at 
the  stranger.  She  was  blue-eyed  and  golden-haired. 

"  Whose  child  is  this  ?  "  queried  Mary,  curiously. 

Zora  looked  coldly  down  upon  the  child. 

"  It  is  Bertie's.  Her  mother  is  bad.  She  is  gone.  I 
sent  her.  She  and  the  others  like  her." 

"But  where  have  you  sent  them?" 

"To  Hell!" 

Mary  Taylor  started  under  the  shock.  Impulsively 
she  moved  forward  with  hands  that  wanted  to  stretch 
themselves  in  appeal. 

"  Zora !     Zora !     You  must  n't  go,  too !  " 

But  the  black  girl  drew  proudly  back. 

"  I  am  there,"  she  returned,  with  unmistakable  sim 
plicity  of  absolute  conviction. 

The  white  woman  shrank  back.  Her  heart  was  wrung ; 
she  wanted  to  say  more  —  to  explain,  to  ask  to  help ; 
there  came  welling  to  her  lips  a  flood  of  things  that  she 
would  know.  But  Zora's  face  again  was  masked. 

"  I  must  go,"  she  said,  before  Mary  could  speak. 
"  Good-bye."  And  the  dark  groaning  depths  of  the  cabin 
swallowed  her. 

With  a  satisfied  smile,  Harry  Cresswell  had  seen  the 
Northern  girl  disappear  toward  the  swamp;  for  it  is 
significant  when  maidens  run  from  lovers.  But  maidens 
should  also  come  back,  and  when,  after  the  lapse  of 
many  minutes,  Mary  did  not  reappear,  he  followed  her 
footsteps  to  the  swamp. 


206    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

He  frowned  as  he  noted  the  footprints  pointing  to 
Elspeth's  —  what  did  Mary  Taylor  want  there  ?  A  fear 
started  within  him,  and  something  else.  He  was  sud 
denly  aware  that  he  wanted  this  woman,  intensely;  at 
the  moment  he  would  have  turned  Heaven  and  earth  to 
get  her.  He  strode  forward  and  the  wood  rose  darkly  green 
above  him.  A  long,  low,  distant  moan  seemed  to  sound 
upon  the  breeze,  and  after  it  came  Mary  Taylor. 

He  met  her  with  tender  solicitude,  and  she  was  glad 
to  feel  his  arm  beneath  hers. 

"  I  've  been  searching  for  you,"  he  said  after  a  silence. 
"  You  should  not  wander  here  alone  —  it  is  dangerous." 

"  Why,  dangerous  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Wandering  Negroes,  and  even  wild  beasts,  in  the  forest 
depths  —  and  malaria  —  see,  you  tremble  now." 

"  But  not  from  malaria,"  she  slowly  returned. 

He  caught  an  unfamiliar  note  in  his  voice,  and  a  wild 
desire  to  justify  himself  before  this  woman  clamored  in 
his  heart.  With  it,  too,  came  a  cooler  calculating  in 
tuition  that  frankness  alone  would  win  her  now.  At  all 
hazards  he  must  win,  and  he  cast  the  die. 

"  Miss  Taylor,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you  —  I 
have  wanted  to  for  —  a  year."  He  glanced  at  her :  she 
was  white  and  silent,  but  she  did  not  tremble.  He  went 
on: 

"  I  have  hesitated  because  I  do  not  know  that  I  have 
a  right  to  speak  or  explain  to  —  to  —  a  good  woman." 

He  felt  her  arm  tighten  on  his  and  he  continued: 

"  You  have  been  to  Elspeth's  cabin ;  it  is  an  evil  place, 
and  has  meant  evil  for  this  community,  and  for  me. 
Elspeth  was  my  mother's  favorite  servant  and  my  own 
mammy.  My  mother  died  when  I  was  ten  and  left  me 
to  her  tender  mercies.  She  let  me  have  my  way  and  en- 


THE  DYING  OF  ELSPETH  207 

|  couraged  the  bad  in  me.  It 's  a  wonder  I  escaped  total 
ruin.  Her  cabin  became  a  rendezvous  for  drinking  and 
carousing.  I  told  my  father,  but  he,  in  lazy  indifference, 
declared  the  place  no  worse  than  all  Negro  cabins,  and 
did  nothing.  I  ceased  my  visits.  Still  she  tried  every 
lure  and  set  false  stories  going  among  the  Negroes,  even 
when  I  sought  to  rescue  Zora.  I  tell  you  this  because 
I  know  you  have  heard  evil  rumors.  I  have  not  been  a 
good  man  —  Mary;  but  I  love  you,  and  you  can  make 
me  good." 

Perhaps  no  other  appeal  would  have  stirred  Mary 
Taylor.  She  was  in  many  respects  an  inexperienced  girl. 
But  she  thought  she  knew  the  world ;  she  knew  that  Harry 
Cresswell  was  not  all  he  should  be,  and  she  knew  too 
that  many  other  men  were  not.  Moreover,  she  argued 
he  had  not  had  a  fair  chance.  All  the  school-ma'am  in 
her  leaped  to  his  teaching.  What  he  needed  was  a  su 
perior  person  like  herself.  She  loved  him,  and  she 
deliberately  put  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  lifted  her 
face  to  be  kissed. 

Back  by  the  place  of  the  Silver  Fleece  they  wandered, 
across  the  Big  Road,  up  to  the  mansion.  On  the  steps 
stood  John  Taylor  and  Helen  Cresswell  hand  in  hand 
and  they  all  smiled  at  each  other.  The  Colonel  came 
out,  smiling  too,  with  the  paper  in  his  hands. 

"Easterly's  right,"  he  beamed,  "the  stock  of  the 
Cotton  Combine  —  - "  he  paused  at  the  silence  and  looked 
up.  The  smile  faded  slowly  and  the  red  blood  mounted 
to  his  forehead.  Anger  struggled  back  of  surprise,  but 
before  it  burst  forth  silently  the  Colonel  turned,  and 
muttering  some  unintelligible  word,  went  slowly  into  the 
house  and  slammed  the  door. 

So   for   Harry    Cresswell  the   day  burst,   flamed,   and 


208    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

waned,  and  then  suddenly  went  out,  leaving  him  dull  and 
gray;  for  Mary  and  her  brother  had  gone  North,  Helen 
had  gone  to  bed,  and  the  Colonel  was  in  town.  Outside 
the  weather  was  gusty  and  lowering  with  a  chill  in  the 
air.  He  paced  the  room  fitfully. 

Well,  he  was  happy.     Or,  was  he  happy? 

He  gnawed  his  mustache,  for  already  his  quick,  change 
able  nature  was  feeling  the  rebound  from  glory  to  misery. 
He  was  a  little  ashamed  of  his  exaltation;  a  bit  doubtful 
and  uncertain.  He  had  stooped  low  to  this  Yankee 
school-ma'am,  lower  than  he  had  ever  stooped  to  woman. 
Usually,  while  he  played  at  loving,  women  grovelled;  for 
was  he  not  a  Cresswell?  Would  this  woman  recognize 
that  fact  and  respect  him  accordingly? 

Then  there  was  Zora;  what  had  she  said  and  hinted 
I  to  Mary?  The  wench  was  always  eluding  and  mock 
ing  him,  the  black  devil!  But,  pshaw!  —  he  poured  him 
self  a  glass  of  brandy  —  was  he  not  rich  and  young? 
The  world  was  his. 

His  valet  knocked. 

"  Gentleman  is  asking  if  you  forgits  it 's  Saturday 
night,  sir?  "  said  Sam. 

Cresswell  walked  thoughtfully  to  the  window,  swept 
back  the  curtain,  and  looked  toward  the  darkness  and 
the  swamp.  It  lowered  threateningly ;  behind  it  the  night 
sky  was  tinged  with  blood. 

"  No,"  he  said ;  "  I  'm  not  going."  And  he  shut  out 
the  glow. 

Yet  he  grew  more  and  more  restless.  The  devil  danced 
in  his  veins  and  burned  in  his  forehead.  His  hands 
shook.  He  heard  a  rustle  of  departing  feet  beneath  his 
window,  then  a  pause  and  a  faint  halloo. 

"  All  right,"  he  called,  and  in  a  moment  went  down- 


THE  DYING  OF  ELSPETH  209 

stairs  and  out  into  the  night.  As  he  closed  the  front 
door  there  seemed  to  come  faintly  up  from  the  swamp 
a  low  ululation,  like  the  prolonged  cry  of  some  wild  bird, 
or  the  wail  of  one's  mourning  for  his  dead. 

Within  the  cabin,  Elspeth  heard.  Tremblingly,  she 
swayed  to  her  feet,  a  haggard,  awful  sight.  She  mo 
tioned  Zora  away,  and  stretching  her  hands  palms  up 
ward  to  the  sky,  cried  with  dry  and  fear-struck  gasp: 

"Pse  called!     Pse  called!" 

On  the  bed  the  child  smiled  in  its  dreaming;  the  red 
flame  of  the  firelight  set  the  gold  to  dancing  in  her  hair. 
Zora  shrank  back  into  the  shadows  and  listened.  Then 
it  came.  She  heard  the  heavy  footsteps  crashing  through 
the  underbrush  —  coming,  coming,  as  from  the  end  of 
the  world.  She  shrank  still  farther  back,  and  a  shadow 
swept  the  door. 

He  was  a  mighty  man,  black  and  white-haired,  and 
his  eyes  were  the  eyes  of  death.  He  bent  to  enter  the 
door,  and  then  uplifting  himself  and  stretching  his  great 
arms,  his  palms  touched  the  blackened  rafters. 

Zora  started  forward.  Thick  memories  of  some  for 
gotten  past  came  piling  in  upon  her.  Where  had  she 
known  him?  What  was  he  to  her? 

Slowly  Elspeth,  with  quivering  hands,  unwound  the 
black  and  snake-like  object  that  always  guarded  her 
breast.  Without  a  word,  he  took  it,  and  again  his  hands 
flew  heavenward.  With  a  low  and  fearful  moan  the  old 
woman  lurched  sideways,  then  crashed,  like  a  fallen  pine, 
upon  the  hearthstone.  She  lay  still  —  dead. 

Three  times  the  man  passed  his  hands,  wave-like,  above 
the  dead.  Three  times  he  murmured,  and  his  eyes  burned 
into  the  shadows,  where  the  girl  trembled.  Then  he 
turned  and  went  as  he  had  come,  his  heavy  feet  crash- 


210    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

ing   through   the   underbrush,    on    and    on,    fainter    and 
fainter,  as  to  the  end  of  the  world. 

Zora  shook  herself  from  the  trance-like  horror  and 
passed  her  hands  across  her  eyes  to  drive  out  the  night 
mare.  But,  no !  there  lay  the  dead  upon  the  hearth  with 
the  firelight  flashing  over  her,  a  bloated,  hideous,  twisted 
thing,  distorted  in  the  rigor  of  death.  A  moment  Zora 
looked  down  upon  her  mother.  She  felt  the  cold  body 
whence  the  wandering,  wrecked  soul  had  passed.  She 
sat  down  and  stared  death  in  the  face  for  the  first  time. 
A  mighty  questioning  arose  within,  a  questioning  and  a 
yearning. 

Was  Elspeth  now  at  peace?     Was  Death  the  Way  — 
the  wide,  dark  Way?     She  had  never  thought  of  it  before, 
and  as   she  thought  she   crept   forward  and  looked  into 
the  fearful  face  pityingly. 

"  Mammy !  "  she  whispered  —  with  bated  breath  — 
"  Mammy  Elspeth !  "  Out  of  the  night  came  a  whispered 
answer:  "Elspeth!  Elspeth!19 

Zora,  sprang  to  her  feet,  alert,  fearful.  With  a  swing  of 
her  arm,  she  pulled  the  great  oaken  door  to  and  dropped 
the  bar  into  its  place.  Over  the  dead  she  spread  a  clean 
white  sheet.  Into  the  fire  she  thrust  pine-knots.  They 
glared  in  vague  red,  and  shadowy  brilliance,  waving  and 
quivering  and  throwing  up  thin  swirling  columns  of  black 
smoke.  Then  standing  beside  the  fireplace  with  the  white, 
still  corpse  between  her  and  the  door,  she  took  up  her 
awful  vigil. 

There  came  a  low  knocking  at  the  door ;  then  silence  and 
footsteps  wandering  furtively  about.  The  night  seemed 
all  footsteps  and  whispers.  There  came  a  louder  knock 
ing,  and  a  voice: 


THE  DYING  OF  ELSPETH  211 

"  Elspeth!     Elspeth!     Open  the  door;  it 's  me." 

Then  muttering  and  wandering  noises,  and  silence 
again. 

The  child  on  the  bed  turned  itself,  murmuring  un 
easily  in  its  dreams.  And  then  they  came.  Zora  froze, 
watching  the  door,  wide-eyed,  while  the  fire  flamed  redder. 
A  loud  quick  knock  at  the  door  —  a  pause  —  an  oath 
and  a  cry. 

"  Elspeth!    Open  this  door,  damn  you!  " 

A  moment  of  waiting  and  then  the  knocking  came  again, 
furious  and  long  continued.  Outside  there  was  much 
trampling  and  swearing.  Zora  did  not  move;  the  child 
slept  on.  A  tugging  and  dragging,  a  dull  blow  that  set 
the  cabin  quivering;  then, — 

"  Bang!  Crack!  Crash!  "•  -  the  door  wavered,  splint 
ered,  and  dropped  upon  the  floor. 

With  a  snarl,  a  crowd  of  some  half-dozen  white  faces 
rushed  forward,  wavered  and  stopped.  The  awakened 
child  sat  up  and  stared  with  wide  blue  eyes.  Slowly,  with 
no  word,  the  intruders  turned  and  went  silently  away, 
leaving  but  one  late  comer  who  pressed  forward. 

"What  damned  mummery  is  this?"  he  cried,  and  snatch 
ing  at  the  sheet,  dragged  it  from  the  black  distorted 
countenance  of  the  corpse.  He  shuddered  but  for  a 
moment  he  could  not  stir.  He  felt  the  midnight  eyes  of  the 
girl  —  he  saw  the  twisted,  oozing  mouth  of  the  hag,  blue- 
black  and  hideous. 

Suddenly  back  behind  there  in  the  darkness  a  shriek 
split  the  night  like  a  sudden  flash  of  flame  —  a  great 
ringing  scream  that  cracked  and  swelled  and  stopped. 
With  one  wild  effort  the  man  hurled  himself  out  the 
door  and  plunged  through  the  darkness.  Panting  and 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

cursing,  he  flashed  his  huge  revolver  — "  bang!  bang! 
bang!  "  it  cracked  into  the  night.  The  sweat  poured 
from  his  forehead;  the  terror  of  the  swamp  was  upon 
him.  "  With  a  struggling  and  tearing  in  his  throat,  he 
tripped  and  fell  fainting  under  the  silent  oaks. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  WEAVING  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

THE  Silver  Fleece,  darkly  cloaked  and  girded,  lay 
in  the  cotton  warehouse  of  the  Cresswells,  near  the 
store.     Its  silken  fibres,  cramped  and  close,  shone 
yellow-white  in  the  sunlight;  sadly  soiled,  yet  beautiful. 
Many  came  to  see  Zora's  twin  bales,  as  they  lay,  handling 
them  and  questioning,  while  Colonel  Cresswell  grew  proud 
of  his  possession. 

The  world  was  going  well  with  the  Colonel.  Freed 
from  money  cares,  praised  for  his  generalship  in  the 
cotton  corner,  able  to  entertain  sumptuously,  he  was 
again  a  Southern  gentleman  of  the  older  school,  and  so  in 
his  envied  element.  Yet  to-day  he  frowned  as  he  stood 
poking  absently  with  his  cane  at  the  baled  Fleece. 

This  marriage  —  or,  rather,  these  marriages  —  were 
not  to  his  liking.  It  was  a  mesalliance  of  a  sort  that 
pricked  him  tenderly;  it  savored  grossly  of  bargain  and 
sale.  His  neighbors  regarded  it  with  disconcerting 
equanimity.  They  seemed  to  think  an  alliance  with  North 
ern  millions  an  honor  for  Cresswell  blood,  and  the  Colonel 
thumped  the  nearer  bale  vigorously.  His  cane  slipped 
along  the  iron  bands  suddenly,  and  the  old  man  lurching 
forward,  clutched  in  space  to  save  himself  and  touched  a 
human  hand. 

[213] 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

Zora,  sitting  shadowed  on  the  farther  bale,  drew  back 
her  hand  quickly  at  the  contact,  and  started  to  move 
away. 

"  Who  's  that  ?  "  thundered  the  Colonel,  more  angry 
at  his  involuntary  fright  than  at  the  intrusion.  "  Here, 
boys ! " 

But  Zora  had  come  forward  into  the  space  where  the 
sunlight  of  the  wide  front  doors  poured  in  upon  the 
cotton  bales. 

"  It 's  me,  Colonel,"  she  said. 

He  glared  at  her.  She  was  taller  and  thinner  than 
formerly,  darkly  transparent  of  skin,  and  her  dark  eyes 
shone  in  strange  and  dusky  brilliance.  Still  indignant 
and  surprised,  the  Colonel  lifted  his  voice  sharply. 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  doing  here?  —  sleeping  when 
you  ought  to  be  at  work!  Get  out!  And  see  here,  next 
week  cotton  chopping  begins  —  you  '11  go  to  the  fields 
or  to  the  chain-gang.  I  '11  have  no  more  of  your  loafing 
about  my  place." 

Awaiting  no  reply,  the  Colonel,  already  half  ashamed 
of  his  vehemence,  stormed  out  into  the  sunlight  and 
climbed  upon  his  bay  mare. 

But  Zora  still  stood  silent  in  the  shadow  of  the  Silver 
Fleece,  hearing  and  yet  not  hearing.  She  was  searching 
for  the  Way,  groping  for  the  threads  of  life,  seeking  al 
most  wildly  to  understand  the  foundations  of  understand 
ing,  piteously  asking  for  answer  to  the  puzzle  of  life. 
All  the  while  the  walls  rose  straight  about  her  and  narrow. 
To  continue  in  school  meant  charity,  yet  she  had  nowhere 
to  go  and  nothing  to  go  with.  To  refuse  to  work  for  the 
Cresswells  meant  trouble  for  the  school  and  perhaps  ar 
rest  for  herself.  To  work  in  the  fields  meant  endless  toil 
and  a  vista  that  opened  upon  death. 


THE  WEAVING  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE  215 

Like  a  hunted  thing  the  girl  turned  and  twisted  in 
thought  and  faced  everywhere  the  blank  Impossible.  Cold 
and  dreamlike  without,  her  shut  teeth  held  back  seething 
fires  within,  and  a  spirit  of  revolt  that  gathered  wildness 
as  it  grew.  Above  all  flew  the  dream,  the  phantasy,  the 
memory  of  the  past,  the  vision  of  the  future.  Over  and 
over  she  whispered  to  herself :  "  This  is  not  the  End ;  this 
can  not  be  the  End." 

Somehow,  somewhere,  would  come  salvation.  Yet  what 
it  would  be  and  what  she  expected  she  did  not  know.  She 
sought  the  Way,  but  what  way  and  whither  she  did  not 
know,  she  dared  not  dream. 

One  thing  alone  lay  in  her  wild  fancy  like  a  great  and 
wonderful  fact  dragging  the  dream  to  earth  and  anchor 
ing  it  there.  That  was  the  Silver  Fleece.  Like  a  brood 
ing  mother,  Zora  had  watched  it.  She  knew  how  the 
gin  had  been  cleaned  for  its  pressing  and  how  it  had 
been  baled  apart  and  carefully  covered.  She  knew  how 
proud  Colonel  Cresswell  was  of  it  and  how  daily  he  had 
visitors  to  see  it  and  ringer  the  wide  white  wound  in  its 
side. 

"  Yes,  sir,  grown  on  my  place,  by  my  niggers,  sir ! " 
he^ assured  them;  and  they  marvelled. 
!  To  Zora's  mind,  this  beautiful  baled  fibre  was  hers;  it 
typified  happiness;  it  was  an  holy  thing  which  profane 
hands  had  stolen.  When  it  came  back  to  her  (as  come 
it  must,  she  cried  with  clenched  hands)  it  would  bring 
happiness ;  not  the  great  Happiness  —  that  was  gone 
forever  —  but  illumination,  atonement,  and  something  of 
the  power  and  the  glory.  So,  involuntarily  almost,  she 
haunted  the  cotton  storehouse,  flitting  like  a  dark  and 
silent  ghost  in  among  the  workmen,  greeting  them  with 
her  low  musical  voice,  warding  them  with  the  cold  majesty 


216    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

of  her  eyes;  each  day  afraid  of  some  last  parting,  each 
night  triumphant  —  it  was  still  there ! 

The  Colonel  —  Zora  already  forgotten  —  rode  up  to 
the  Cresswell  Oaks,  pondering  darkly.  It  was  bad  enough 
to  contemplate  Helen's  marriage  in  distant  prospect,  but 
the  sudden,  almost  peremptory  desire  for  marrying  at 
Eastertide,  a  little  less  than  two  months  away,  was 
absurd.  There  were  "  business  reasons  arising  from  the 
presidential  campaign  in  the  fall,"  John  Taylor  had  tele 
graphed;  but  there  was  already  too  much  business  in  the 
arrangement  to  suit  the  Colonel.  With  Harry  it  was 
different.  Indeed  it  was  his  own  quiet  suggestion  that 
made  John  Taylor  hurry  matters. 

Harry  trusted  to  the  novelty  of  his  father's  new  wealth 
to  make  the  latter  complacent;  he  himself  felt  an  im 
patient  longing  for  the  haven  of  a  home.  He  had  been  too 
long  untethered.  He  distrusted  himself.  The  devil  within 
was  too  fond  of  taking  the  bit  in  his  teeth.  He  would  re 
member  to  his  dying  day  one  awful  shriek  in  the  night,  as 
of  a  soul  tormenting  and  tormented.  He  wanted  the  pro 
tection  of  a  good  woman,  and  sometimes  against  the  clear 
whiteness  of  her  letters  so  joyous  and  generous,  even  if  a 
bit  prim  and  didactic,  he  saw  a  vision  of  himself  reflected 
as  he  was,  and  he  feared. 

It  was  distinctly  disconcerting  to  Colonel  Cresswell  to 
find  Harry  quite  in  favor  of  early  nuptials,  and  to  learn 
that  the  sole  objection  even  in  Helen's  mind  was  the  im 
probability  of  getting  a  wedding-gown  in  time.  Helen 
had  all  a  child's  naive  love  for  beautiful  and  dainty  things, 
and  a  wedding-gown  from  Paris  had  been  her  life  dream. 
On  this  point,  therefore,  there  ensued  spirited  arguments 
and  much  correspondence,  and  both  her  brother  and  her 
lover  evinced  characteristic  interest  in  the  planning. 


THE  WEAVING  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE   217 

Said  Harry :  "  Sis,  I  '11  cable  to  Paris  to-day.  They 
can  easily  hurry  the  thing  along." 

Helen  was  delighted;  she  handed  over  a  telegram  just 
received  from  John  Taylor.  "  Send  me,  express,  two 
bales  best  cotton  you  can  get." 

The  Colonel  read  the  message.  a  I  don't  see  the  con 
nection  between  this  and  hurrying  up  a  wedding-gown," 
he  growled.  None  of  them  discerned  the  handwriting  of 
Destiny. 

"  Neither  do  I,"  said  Harry,  who  detected  yielding  in 
his  father's  tone.  "  But  we  'd  better  send  him  the  two 
prize  bales ;  it  will  be  a  fine  advertisement  of  our  planta 
tion,  and  evidently  he  has  a  surprise  in  store  for  us." 

The  Colonel  affected  to  hesitate,  but  next  morning  the 
Silver  Fleece  went  to  towTn. 

Zora  watched  it  go,  and  her  heart  swelled  and  died 
within  her.  She  walked  to  town,  to  the  station.  She  did 
not  see  Mrs.  Vanderpool  arriving  from  New  Orleans ;  but 
Mrs.  Vanderpool  saw  her,  and  looked  curiously  at  the  tall, 
tragic  figure  that  leaned  so  dolorously  beside  the  freight 
car.  The  bales  were  loaded  into  the  express  car ;  the  train 
pulled  away,  its  hoarse  snorting  waking  vague  echoes  in 
the  forest  beyond.  But  to  the  girl  who  stood  at  the  End, 
looking  outward  to  darkness,  those  echoes  roared  like  the 
crack  of  doom.  A  passing  band  of  contract  hands  called 
to  her  mockingly,  and  one  black  giant,  laughing  loudly, 
gripped  her  hand. 

"  Come,  honey,"  he  shouted,  "  you  'se  a-dreaming ! 
Come  on,  honey !  " 

She  turned  abruptly  and  gripped  his  hand,  as  one 
drowning  grips  anything  offered  —  gripped  till  he 
winced.  She  laughed  a  loud  mirthless  laugh,  that  came 
pouring  like  a  sob  from  her  deep  lungs. 


218   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  Come  on! "  she  mocked,  and  joined  them. 

They  were  a  motley  crowd,  ragged,  swaggering,  jolly. 
There  were  husky,  big-limbed  youths,  and  bold-faced, 
loud-tongued  girls.  To-morrow  they  would  start  up- 
country  to  some  backwoods  barony  in  the  kingdom  of 
cotton,  and  work  till  Christmas  time.  To-day  was  the 
last  in  town;  there  was  craftily  advanced  money  in  their 
pockets  and  riot  in  their  hearts.  In  the  gathering  twi 
light  they  marched  noisily  through  the  streets;  in 
their  midst,  wide-eyed  and  laughing  almost  hysterically, 
marched  Zora. 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  meantime  rode  thoughtfully  out  of 
town  toward  Cresswell  Oaks.  She  was  returning  from 
witnessing  the  Mardi  Gras  festivities  at  New  Orleans  and 
at  the  urgent  invitation  of  the  Cresswells  had  stopped 
off.  She  might  even  stay  to  the  wedding  if  the  new  plans 
matured. 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  was  quite  upset.  Her  French  maid, 
on  whom  she  had  depended  absolutely  for  five  years  or 
more,  had  left  her. 

"  I  think  I  want  to  try  a  colored  maid,"  she  told  the 
Cresswells,  laughingly,  as  they  drove  home.  "  They  have 
sweet  voices  and  they  can't  doff  their  uniform.  Helene 
without  her  cap  and  apron  was  often  mistaken  for  a  lady, 
and  while  I  was  in  New  Orleans  a  French  confectioner 
married  her  under  some  such  delusion.  Now,  have  n't 
you  a  girl  about  here  who  would  do  ?  " 

"  No,"  declared  Harry  decisively,  but  his  sister  sug 
gested  that  she  might  ask  Miss  Smith  at  the  colored 
school. 

Again  Mrs.  Vanderpool  laughed,  but  after  tea  she 
wandered  idly  down  the  road.  The  sun  behind  the  swamp 
was  crimsoning  the  world.  Mrs.  Vanderpool  strolled 


THE  JVEAVING  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE  219 

alone  to  the  school,  and  saw  Sarah  Smith.  There  was  no 
cordiality  in  the  latter's  greeting,  but  when  she  heard  the 
caller's  errand  her  attention  was  at  once  arrested  and 
held.  The  interests  of  her  charges  were  always  uppermost 
in  her  mind. 

"Can't  I  have  the  girl  Zora?  "  Mrs.  Vanderpool  at 
last  inquired. 

Miss  Smith  started,  for  she  was  thinking  of  Zora  at 
that  very  instant.  The  girl  was  later  than  usual,  and  she 
was  momentarily  expecting  to  see  her  tall  form  moving 
languidly  up  the  walk. 

She  gave  Mrs.  Vanderpool  a  searching  look.  Mrs. 
Vanderpool  glanced  involuntarily  at  her  gown  and  smiled 
as  she  did  it. 

"  Could  I  trust  you  with  a  human  soul?  "  asked  Miss 
Smith  abruptly. 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  looked  up  quickly.  The  half  mock 
ing  answer  that  rose  involuntarily  to  her  lips  was  checked. 
Within,  Mrs.  Vanderpool  was  a  little  puzzled  at  herself. 
Why  had  she  asked  for  this  girl?  She  had  felt  a  strange 
interest  in  her  —  a  peculiar  human  interest  since  she  first 
saw  her  and  as  she  saw  her  again  this  afternoon.  But 
would  she  make  a  satisfactory  maid?  Was  it  not  a  rather 
dangerous  experiment?  Why  had  she  asked  for  her? 
She  certainly  had  not  intended  to  when  she  entered  the 
house. 

In  the  silence  Miss  Smith  continued :  "  Here  is  a  child 
in  whom  the  fountains  of  the  great  deep  are  suddenly 
broken  up.  With  peace  and  care  she  would  find  herself, 
for  she  is  strong.  But  here  there  is  no  peace.  Slavery  of 
soul  and  body  awaits  her  and  I  am  powerless  to  protect 
her.  She  must  go  away.  That  going  away  may  make 
,or  ruin  her.  She  knows  nothing  of  working  for  wages 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

and  she  has  not  the  servant's  humility ;  but  she  has  loyalty 
and  pluck.  For  one  she  loves  there  is  nothing  she  would 
not  do;  but  she  cannot  be  driven.  Or  rather,  if  she  is 
driven,  it  may  rouse  in  her  the  devil  incarnate.  She  needs 
not  exactly  affection  —  she  would  almost  resent  that  — 
but  intelligent  interest  and  care.  In  return  for  this  she 
will  gradually  learn  to  serve  and  serve  loyally.  Frankly, 
Mrs.  Vanderpool,  I  would  not  have  chosen  you  for  this 
task  of  human  education.  Indeed,  you  would  have  been 
my  last  thought  —  you  seem  to  me  —  I  speak  plainly  — 
a  worldly  woman.  Yet,  perhaps  —  who  can  tell?  —  God 
has  especially  set  you  to  this  task.  At  any  rate,  I  have 
little  choice.  I  am  at  my  wits'  end.  Elspeth,  the  mother 
of  this  child,  is  not  long  dead ;  and  here  is  the  girl,  beauti 
ful,  unprotected;  and  here  am  I,  almost  helpless.  She  is 
in  debt  to  the  Cresswells,  and  they  are  pressing  the  claim 
to  her  service.  Take  her  if  you  can  get  her  —  it  is,  I 
fear,  her  only  chance.  Mind  you  —  if  you  can  persuade 
her;  and  that  may  be  impossible." 

"Where  is  she  now?" 

Miss  Smith  glanced  out  at  the  darkening  landscape, 
and  then  at  her  watch. 

"  I  do  not  know ;  she 's  very  late.  She  ?s  given  to 
wandering,  but  usually  she  is  here  before  this  time." 

"  I  saw  her  in  town  this  afternoon,"  said  Mrs.  Vander 
pool. 

"  Zora?  In  town?  "  Miss  Smith  rose.  "  I  '11  send  her 
to  you  to-morrow,"  she  said  quietly.  Mrs.  Vanderpool 
had  hardly  reached  the  Oaks  before  Miss  Smith  was  driv 
ing  toward  town. 

A  small  cabin  on  the  town's  ragged  fringe  was  crowded 
to  suffocation.  Within  arose  noisy  shouts,  loud  songs, 
and  raucous  laughter;  the  scraping  of  a  fiddle  and  whine 


THE  WEAVING  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

of  an  accordion.  Liquor  began  to  appear  and  happy  faces 
grew  red-eyed  and  sodden  as  the  dances  whirled.  At  the 
edge  of  the  orgy  stood  Zora,  wild-eyed  and  bewildered, 
mad  with  the  pain  that  gripped  her  heart  and  hammered 
in  her  head,  crying  in  tune  with  the  frenzied  music  — 
"the  End  — the  End!" 

Abruptly  she  recognized  a  face  despite  the  wreck  and 
ruin  of  its  beauty. 

"  Bertie !  "  she  cried  as  she  seized  the  mother  of  little 
Emma  by  the  arm. 

The  woman  staggered  and  offered  her  glass. 

"  Drink,"  she  cried,  "  drink  and  forget." 

In  a  moment  Zora  sprang  forward  and  seized  the  burn 
ing  liquid  in  both  hands.  A  dozen  hands  clapped  a  devil's 
tattoo.  A  score  of  voices  yelled  and  laughed.  The  shriek 
of  the  music  was  drowned  beneath  the  thunder  of  stamp 
ing  feet.  Men  reeled  to  singing  women's  arms,  but  above 
the  roar  rose  the  song  of  the  voice  of  Zora  —  she  glided 
to  the  middle  of  the  room,  standing  tip-toed  with  skirts 
that  curled  and  turned;  she  threw  back  her  head,  raised 
the  liquor  to  her  lips,  paused  —  and  looked  into  the  face 
of  Miss  Smith. 

A  silence  fell  like  a  lightning  flash  on  the  room  as  that 
white  face  peered  in  at  the  door.  Slowly  Zora's  hands 
fell  and  her  eyes  blinked  as  though  waking  from  some 
awful  dream.  She  staggered  toward  the  woman's  out 
stretched  arms.  .  .  . 

Late  that  night  the  girl  lay  close  in  Miss  Smith's 
motherly  embrace. 

"  I  was  going  to  hell !  "  she  whispered,  trembling. 

"Why,  Zora?"  asked  Miss  Smith  calmly. 

"  I  could  n't  find  the  Way  —  and  I  wanted  to  forget." 

"  People  in  hell  don't  forget,"  was  the  matter-of-fact 


222   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

comment.  "  And,  Zora,  what  way  do  you  seek?  The  way 
where  ?  " 

Zora  sat  up  in  bed,  and  lifted  a  gray  and  stricken  face. 

"  It 's  a  lie,"  she  cried,  with  hoarse  earnestness,  "  the 
way  nowhere.  There  is  no  Way !  You  know  —  I  want 
him  —  I  want  nothing  on  earth  but  him  —  and  him  I 
can't  ever  have." 

The  older  woman  drew  her  down  tenderly. 

"  No,  Zora,"  she  said,  "  there  's  something  you  want 
more  than  him  and  something  you  can  have !  " 

"  What  ?  "  asked  the  wondering  girl. 

"  His  respect,"  said  Sarah  Smith,  "  and  I  know  the 
Way." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  MARRIAGE  MORNING 

MRS.  VANDERPOOL  watched  Zora  as  she  came 
up  the  path  beneath  the  oaks.     "  She  walks  well," 
she  observed.     And  laying  aside  her  book,  she 
waited  with  a  marked  curiosity. 

The  girl's  greeting  was  brief,  almost  curt,  but  unin 
tentionally  so,  as  one  could  easily  see,  for  back  in  her 
eyes  lurked  an  impatient  hunger;  she  was  not  thinking 
of  greetings.  She  murmured  a  quick  word,  and  stood 
straight  and  tall  with  her  eyes  squarely  on  the  lady. 

In  the  depths  of  Mrs.  Vanderpool's  heart  something 
strange  —  not  new,  but  very  old  —  stirred.  Before  her 
stood  this  tall  black  girl,  quietly  returning  her  look.  Mrs. 
Vanderpool  had  a  most  uncomfortable  sense  of  being 
judged,  of  being  weighed, —  and  there  arose  within  her  an 
impulse  to  self-justification. 

She  smiled  and  said  sweetly,  "Won't  you  sit?"  But' 
despite  all  this,  her  mind  seemed  leaping  backward  a 
thousand  years ;  back  to  a  simpler,  primal  day  when  she 
herself,  white,  frail,  and  fettered,  stood  before  the  dusky 
magnificence  of  some  bejewelled  barbarian  queen  and 
sought  to  justify  herself.  She  shook  off  the  phantasy, — 
and  yet  how  well  the  girl  stood.  It  was  not  every  one  that 
could  stand  still  and  well. 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  Please  sit  down,"  she  repeated  with  her  softest  charm, 
not  dreaming  that  outside  the  school  white  persons  did 
not  ask  this  girl  to  sit  in  their  presence.  But  even  this 
did  not  move  Zora.  She  sat  down.  There  was  in  her, 
walking,  standing,  sitting,  a  simple  directness  which  Mrs. 
Vanderpool  sensed  and  met. 

"  Zora,  I  need  some  one  to  help  me  —  to  do  my  hair 
and  serve  my  coffee,  and  dress  and  take  care  of  me.  The 
work  will  not  be  hard,  and  you  can  travel  and  see  the 
world  and  live  well.  Would  you  like  it?  " 

"  But  I  do  not  know  how  to  do  all  these  things,"  re 
turned  Zora,  slowly.  She  was  thinking  rapidly  —  Was 
this  the  Way?  It  sounded  wonderful.  The  World,  the 
great  mysterious  World,  that  stretched  beyond  the  swamp 
and  into  which  Bles  and  the  Silver  Fleece  had  gone  — 
did  it  lead  to  the  Way?  But  if  she  went  there  what  would 
she  see  and  do,  and  would  it  be  possible  to  become  such  a 
woman  as  Miss  Smith  pictured? 
{  "  What  is  the  world  like?  "  asked  Zora. 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  smiled.  "  Oh,  I  meant  great  active 
cities  and  buildings,  myriads  of  people  and  wonderfu] 
sights." 

"Yes  — but  back  of  it  all,  what  is  it  really?  What 
does  it  look  like?  " 

"  Heavens,  child !  Don't  ask.  Really,  it  is  n't  worth 
while  peering  back  of  things.  One  is  sure  to  be 
disappointed." 

"  Then  what 's  the  use  of  seeing  the  world?  " 

"  Why,  one  must  live ;  and  why  not  be  happy  ?  "  an 
swered  Mrs.  Vanderpool,  amused,  baffled,  spurred  for  the 
time  being  from  her  chronic  ennui. 

"Are  you  happy?"  retorted  Zora,  looking  her  over 
carefully,  from  silken  stockings  to  garden  hat.  Mrs. 


THE  MARRIAGE  MORNING  225 

Vanderpool   laid   aside   her   little   mockery   and   met   the 
situation  bravely. 

"  No,"  she  replied  simply.     Her  eyes  grew  old  and  tired. 

Involuntarily  Zora's  hand  crept  out  protectingly  and 
lay  a  moment  over  the  white  jewelled  fingers.  Then 
quickly  recovering  herself,  she  started  hastily  to  with 
draw  it,  but  the  woman's  fingers  closed  around  the  darker 
ones,  and  Mrs.  Vanderpool's  eyes  became  dim, 

"  I  need  you,  Zora,"  she   said ;   and  then,   seeing  the 
half-formed  question,  "  Yes,  and  you  need  me ;  we  need 
each  other.     In  the  world  lies   opportunity,   and  I  will    i 
help  you." 

Zora  rose  abruptly,  and  Mrs,  Vanderpool  feared,  with 
a  tightening  of  heart,  that  she  had  lost  this  strangely 
alluring  girl. 

"  I  will  come  to-morrow,"  said  Zora. 

As  Mrs.  Vanderpool  went  in  to  lunch,  reaction  and 
lingering  doubts  came  trouping  back.  To  replace  the 
daintiest  of  trained  experts  with  the  most  baffling  semi- 
barbarian,  well ! 

"  Have  you  hired  a  maid  ?  "  asked  Helen. 

"  I  've  engaged  Zora,"  laughed  Mrs,  Vanderpool, 
lightly;  "  and  now  I  'm  wondering  whether  I  have  a  jewel 
or  —  a  white  elephant." 

"  Probably  neither,"  remarked  Harry  Cresswell,  drily ; 
but  he  avoided  the  lady's  inquiring  eyes. 

Next  morning  Zora  came  easily  into  Mrs.  Vanderpool's 
life.  There  was  little  she  knew  of  her  duties,  but  little, 
too,  that  she  could  not  learn  with  a  deftness  and  divina 
tion  almost  startling.  Her  quietness,  her  quickness,  her 
young  strength,  were  like  a  soothing  balm  to  the  tired 
woman  of  fashion,  and  within  a  week  she  had  sunk  back 
contentedly  into  Zora's  strong  arms. 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  It 's  a  jewel,"  she  decided. 

With  this  verdict  the  house  agreed.  The  servants 
waited  on  "  Miss  Zora  "  gladly ;  the  men  scarcely  saw  her, 
and  the  ladies  ran  to  her  for  help  in  all  sorts.  Harry 
Cresswell  looked  upon  this  transformation  with  an  amused 
smile,  but  the  Colonel  saw  in  it  simply  evidence  of  danger 
ous  obstinacy  in  a  black  girl  who  hitherto  had  refused  to 
work. 

Zora  had  been  in  the  house  but  a  week  when  a  large 
express  package  was  received  from  John  Taylor.  Its 
unwrapping  brought  a  cry  of  pleasure  from  the  ladies. 
There  lay  a  bolt  of  silken-like  cambric  of  wondrous  fine 
ness  and  lustre,  marked :  "  For  the  wedding-dress."  The 
explanation  accompanied  the  package,  that  Mary  Taylor 
had  a  similar  piece  in  the  North. 

Helen  and  Harry  said  nothing  of  the  cablegram  to  the 
Paris  tailor,  and  Helen  took  110  steps  toward  having  the 
cambric  dress  made,  not  even  when  the  wedding  invitations 
appeared. 

"  A  Cresswell  married  in  cotton !  "  Helen  was  almost 
in  tears  lest  the  Paris  gown  be  delayed,  and  sure  enough 
a  cablegram  came  at  last  saying  that  there  was  little  like 
lihood  of  the  gown  being  ready  by  Easter.  It  would  be 
shipped  at  the  earliest  convenience,  but  it  could  hardly 
catch  the  necessary  boat.  Helen  had  a  good  cry,  and  then 
came  a  wild  rush  to  get  John  Taylor's  cloth  ready.  Still, 
Helen  was  querulous.  She  decided  that  silk  embroidery 
must  embellish  the  skirt.  The  dressmaker  was  in  despair. 

"  I  have  n't  a  single  spare  worker,"  she  declared. 

Helen  was  appealing  to  Mrs.  Vanderpool. 

"  I  can  do  it,"  said  Zora,  who  was  in  the  room. 

"  Do  you  know  how?  "  asked  the  dressmaker. 

"  No,  but  I  want  to  know." 


THE  MARRIAGE  MORNING  227 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  gave  a  satisfied  nod.  "  Show  her," 
she  said.  The  dressmaker  was  on  the  edge  of  rebellion. 
"  Zora  sews  beautifully,"  added  Mrs.  Vanderpool. 

Thus  the  beautiful  cloth  came  to  Zora's  room,  and 
was  spread  in  a  glossy  cloud  over  her  bed.  She  trembled 
at  its  beauty  and  felt  a  vague  inner  yearning,  as  if  some 
subtle  magic  of  the  woven  web  were  trying  to  tell  her  its 
story. 

She  worked  over  it  faithfully  and  lovingly  in  every 
spare  hour  and  in  long  nights  of  dreaming.  Wilfully  she 
departed  from  the  set  pattern  and  sewed  into  the  cloth 
something  of  the  beauty  in  her  heart.  In  new  and  intri 
cate  ways,  with  soft  shadowings  and  coverings,  she  wove 
in  that  white  veil  her  own  strange  soul,  and  Mrs.  Vander 
pool  watched  her  curiously,  but  in  silence. 

Meantime  all  things  were  arranged  for  a  double 
wedding  at  Cresswell  Oaks.  As  John  and  Mary  Taylor 
had  no  suitable  home,  they  were  to  come  down  and  the 
two  brides  to  go  forth  from  the  Cresswell  mansion.  Ac 
cordingly  the  Taylors  arrived  a  week  before  the  wedding 
and  the  home  took  on  a  festive  air.  Even  Colonel  Cress- 
well  expanded  under  the  genial  influences,  and  while  his 
head  still  protested  his  heart  was  glad.  He  had  to  re 
spect  John  Taylor's  undoubted  ability;  and  Mary 
Taylor  was  certainly  lovely,  in  spite  of  that  assumption 
of  cleverness  of  which  the  Colonel  could  not  approve. 

Marjr  returned  to  the  old  scenes  with  mingled  feelings. 
Especially  was  she  startled  at  seeing  Zora  a  member  of 
the  household  and  apparently  high  in  favor.  It  brought 
back  something  of  the  old  uneasiness  and  suspicion. 

All  this  she  soon  forgot  under  the  cadence  of  Harry 
Cresswell's  pleasant  voice  and  the  caressing  touch  of  his 
arm.  He  seemed  handsomer  than  ever;  and  he  was,  for 


228    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

sleep  and  temperance  and  the  wooing  of  a  woman  had  put 
a  tinge  in  his  marble  face,  smoothed  the  puffs  beneath  his 
eyes,  and  given  him  a  more  distinguished  bearing  and  a 
firmer  hand.  And  Mary  Taylor  was  very  happy.  So 
was  her  brother,  only  differently;  he  was  making  money; 
he  was  planning  to  make  more,  and  he  had  something  to 
pet  which  seemed  to  him  extraordinarily  precious  and 
valuable. 

Taylor  eagerly  inquired  after  the  cloth,  and  followed 
the  ladies  to  Zora's  room,  adjoining  Mrs.  Vanderpool's, 
to  see  it.  It  lay  uncut  and  shimmering,  covered  with  dim 
silken  tracery  of  a  delicacy  and  beauty  which  brought  an 
exclamation  to  all  lips. 

"  That 's  what  we  can  do  with  Alabama  cotton,"  cried 
John  Taylor  in  triumph. 

They  turned  to  him  incredulously. 

«  But  —  " 

"  No  '  buts  '  about  it ;  these  are  the  two  bales  you  sent 
me,  woven  with  a  silk  woof."  No  one  particularly  noticed 
that  Zora  had  hastily  left  the  room.  "  I  had  it  done  in 
Easterly's  New  Jersey  mills  according  to  an  old  plan  of 
mine.  I  'm  going  to  make  cloth  like  that  right  in  this 
county  some  day,"  and  he  chuckled  gayly. 

But  Zora  was  striding  up  and  down  the  halls,  the  blood 
surging  in  her  ears.  After  they  were  gone  she  came 
back  and  closed  the  doors.  She  dropped  on  her  knees 
and  buried  her  face  in  the  filmy  folds  of  the  Silver  Fleece. 

"  I  knew  it !  I  knew  it !  "  she  whispered  in  mingled 
tears  and  joy.  "  It  called  and  I  did  not  understand." 

It  was  her  talisman  new-found ;  her  love  come  back,  her 
stolen  dream  come  true.  Now  she  could  face  the  world ; 
God  had  turned  it  straight  again.  She  would  go  into  the 
world  and  find  —  not  Love,  but  the  thing  greater  than 


THE  MARRIAGE  MORNING  229 

Love.  Outside  the  door  came  voices  —  the  dressmaker's 
tones,  Helen's  soft  drawl,  and  Mrs.  Vanderpool's  finished 
accents.  Her  face  went  suddenly  gray.  The  Silver 
Fleece  was  not  hers  !  It  belonged  —  She  rose  hastily. 
The  door  opened  and  they  came  in.  The  cutting  must 
begin  at  once,  they  all  agreed. 

"  Is  it  ready,  Zora  ?  "  inquired  Helen. 

"  No,"  Zora  quietly  answered,  "  not  quite,  but  to 
morrow  morning,  early."  As  soon  as  she  was  alone 
again,  she  sat  down  and  considered.  By  and  by,  while 
the  family  was  at  lunch,  she  folded  the  Silver  Fleece  care 
fully  and  locked  it  in  her  new  trunk.  She  would  hide  it 
in  the  swamp.  During  the  afternoon  she  sent  to  town 
for  oil-cloth,  and  bade  the  black  carpenter  at  Miss 
Smith's  make  a  cedar  box,  tight  and  tarred.  In  the 
morning  she  prepared  Mrs.  Vanderpool's  breakfast  with 
unusual  care.  She  was  sorry  for  Mrs.  Vanderpool,  and 
sorry  for  Miss  Smith.  They  would  not,  they  could  not, 
understand.  What  would  happen  to  her?  She  did  not 
know;  she  did  not  care.  The  Silver  Fleece  had  returned 
to  her.  Soon  it  would  be  buried  in  the  swamp  whence  it 
came.  She  had  no  alternative;  she  must  keep  it  and 
wait. 

She  heard  the  dressmaker's  voice,  and  then  her  step 
upon  the  stair.  She  heard  the  sound  of  Harry  Cress- 
well's  buggy,  and  a  scurrying  at  the  front  door.  On 
came  the  dressmaker's  footsteps  —  then  her  door  was  un 
ceremoniously  burst  open. 

Helen  Cresswell  stood  there  radiant;  the  dressmaker, 
too,  was  wreathed  in  smiles.  She  carried  a  big  red-sealed 
bundle. 

"  Zora !  "  cried  Helen  in  ecstasy.  "  It 's  come !  "  Zora 
regarded  her  coldly,  and  stood  at  bay.  The  dressmaker 


230    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

was  ripping  and  snipping,  and  soon  there  lay  revealed  be 
fore  them  —  the  Paris  gown ! 

Helen  was  in  raptures,  but  her  conscience  pricked  her. 
She  appealed  to  them.  "  Ought  I  to  tell?  You  see, 
Mary's  gown  will  look  miserably  common  beside  it." 

The  dressmaker  was  voluble.  There  was  really  noth 
ing  to  tell ;  and  besides,  Helen  was  a  Cresswell  and  it  was 
to  be  expected,  and  so  forth.  Helen  pursed  her  lips  and 
petulantly  tapped  the  floor  with  her  foot. 

"  But  the  other  gown?  " 

"Where  is  it?"  asked  the  dressmaker,  looking  about. 
"  It  would  make  a  pretty  morning-dress  — 

But  Helen  had  taken  a  sudden  dislike  to  the  thought 
of  it. 

"  I  don't  want  it,"  she  declared.  "  And  besides,  I 
have  n't  room  for  it  in  my  trunks." 

Of  a  sudden  she  leaned  down  and  whispered  to  Zora: 
"  Zora,  hide  it  and  keep  it  if  you  want  it.  Come,"  to  the 
dressmaker,  "  I  'm  dying  to  try  this  on  —  now.  .  . 
Remember,  Zora  —  not  a  word."  And  all  this  to  Zora 
seemed  no  surprise;  it  was  the  Way,  and  it  was  opening 
before  her  because  the  talisman  lay  in  her  trunk. 

So  at  last  it  came  to  Easter  morning.  The  world  was 
golden  with  jasmine,  and  crimson  with  azalea;  down  in 
the  darker  places  gleamed  the  misty  glory  of  the  dog 
wood;  new  cotton  shook,  glimmered,  and  blossomed  in  the 
black  fields,  and  over  all  the  soft  Southern  sun  poured  its 
awakening  light  of  life.  There  was  happiness  and  hope 
again  in  the  cabins,  and  hope  and  —  if  not  happiness, 
ambition,  in  the  mansions. 

Zora,  almost  forgetting  the  wedding,  stood  before  the 
mirror.  Laying  aside  her  dress,  she  draped  her  shim 
mering  cloth  about  her,  dragging  her  hair  down  in  a 


THE  MARRIAGE  MORNING  231 

heavy  mass  over  ears  and  neck  until  she  seemed  herself 
a  bride.  And  as  she  stood  there,  awed  with  the  mystical 
union  of  a  dead  love  and  a  living  new  born  self, 
there  came  drifting  in  at  the  window,  faintly,  the  soft 
sound  of  far-off  marriage  music. 

"  'T  is  thy  marriage  morning,  shining  in  the  sun !  " 
Two  white  and  white-swathed  brides  were  coming 
slowly  down  the  great  staircase  of  Cresswell  Oaks,  and 
two  white  and  black-clothed  bridegrooms  awaited  them. 
Either  bridegroom  looked  gladly  at  the  flow  of  his  sister's 
garments  and  almost  darkly  at  his  bride's.  For  Helen 
was  decked  in  Parisian  splendor,  while  Mary  was  gowned 
in  the  Fleece. 

"  'T  is  thy  marriage  morning,  shining  in  the  sun !  " 
Up  floated  the  song  of  the  little  dark-faced  children, 
and  Zora  listened. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

MISS  CAROLINE  WYNN 

BLES  ALWYN  was  seated  in  the  anteroom  of 
Senator  Smith's  office  in  Washington.  The  Sen 
ator  had  not  come  in  yet,  and  there  were  others 
waiting,  too. 

The  young  man  sat  in  a  corner,  dreaming.  Washing 
ton  was  his  first  great  city,  and  it  seemed  a  never-ending 
delight  —  the  streets,  the  buildings,  the  crowds ;  the 
shops,  and  lights,  and  noise;  the  kaleidoscopic  panorama 
of  a  world's  doing,  the  myriad  forms  and  faces,  the  talk 
and  laughter  of  men.  It  was  all  wonderful  magic  to  the 
country  boy,  and  he  stretched  his  arms  and  filled  his  lungs 
and  cried :  "  Here  I  shall  live !  " 

Especially  was  he  attracted  by  his  own  people.  They 
seemed  transformed,  revivified,  changed.  Some  might  be 
mistaken  for  field  hands  on  a  holiday  —  but  not  many. 
Others  he  did  not  recognize  —  they  seemed  strange  and 
alien  —  sharper,  quicker,  and  at  once  more  overbearing 
and  more  unscrupulous. 

There  were  yet  others  —  and  at  the  sight  of  these  Bles 
stood  straighter  and  breathed  like  a  man.  They  were 
well  dressed,  and  well  appearing  men  and  women,  who 
walked  upright  and  looked  one  in  the  eye,  and  seemed 
like  persons  of  affairs  and  money.  They  had  arrived  — 


MISS  CAROLINE  WYNN  233 

they  were  men  —  they  filled  his  mind's  ideal  —  he  felt 
like  going  up  to  them  and  grasping  their  hands  and  say 
ing,  "At  last,  brother!"  Ah,  it  was  good  to  find  one's 
dreams,  walking  in  the  light,  in  flesh  and  blood.  Con 
tinually  such  thoughts  were  surging  through  his  brain, 
and  they  were  rioting  through  it  again  as  he  sat  waiting 
in  Senator  Smith's  office. 

The  Senator  was  late  this  morning;  when  he  came  in 
he  glanced  at  the  morning  paper  before  looking  over  his 
mail  and  the  list  of  his  callers.  "  Do  fools  like  the  Amer 
ican  people  deserve  salvation?"  he  sneered,  holding  off 
the  headlines  and  glancing  at  them. 

"  *  League  Beats  Trust.9  .  .  .  c  Farmers  of  South 
Smash  Effort  to  Bear  Market  .  .  .  Send  Cotton  to 
Twelve  Cents  .  .  .  Common  People  Triumph.' 

"  A  man  is  induced  to  bite  off  his  own  nose  and  then  to 
sing  a  paean  of  victory.  It 's  nauseating  —  senseless. 
There  is  no  earthly  use  striving  for  such  blockheads ; 
they  'd  crucify  any  Saviour."  Thus  half  consciously 
Senator  Smith  salved  his  conscience,  while  he  extracted  a 
certificate  of  deposit  for  fifty  thousand  dollars  from  his 
New  York  mail.  He  thrust  it  aside  from  his  secretary's 
view  and  looked  at  his  list  as  he  rang  the  bell:  there  was 
Representative  Todd,  and  somebody  named  Alwyn  —  no 
body  of  importance.  Easterly  was  due  in  a  half-hour.  He 
would  get  rid  of  Todd  meantime. 

"  Poor  Todd,"  he  mused ;  "  a  lamb  for  the  slaughter." 

But  he  patiently  listened  to  him  plead  for  party  sup 
port  and  influence  for  his  bill  to  prohibit  gambling  in 
futures. 

"  I  was  warned  that  it  was  useless  to  see  you,  Senator 
Smith,  but  I  would  come.  I  believe  in  you.  Frankly, 
there  is  a  strong  group  of  your  old  friends  and  followers 


234   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

forming  against  you ;  they  met  only  last  night,  but  I  did 
not  go.  Won't  you  take  a  stand  on  some  of  these  pro 
gressive  matters  —  this  bill,  or  the  Child  Labor  movement, 
or  Low  Tariff  legislation?  " 

Mr.  Smith  listened  but  shook  his  head. 

"  When  the  time  comes,"  he  announced  deliberately,  "  I 
shall  have  something  to  say  on  several  of  these  matters. 
At  present  I  can  only  say  that  I  cannot  support  this 
bill,"  and  Mr.  Todd  was  ushered  out.  He  met  Mr. 
Easterly  coming  in  and  greeted  him  effusively.  He  knew 
him  only  as  a  rich  philanthropist,  who  had  helped  the 
Neighborhood  Guild  in  Washington  —  one  of  Todd's 
hobbies. 

Easterly  greeted  Smith  quietly. 

"Got  my  letter?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Here  are  the  three  bills.  You  will  go  on  the  Finance 
Committee  to-morrow ;  Sumdrich  is  chairman  by  courtesy, 
but  you  '11  have  the  real  power.  Put  the  Child  Labor 
Bill  first,  and  we  '11  work  the  press.  The  Tariff  will  take 
most  of  the  session,  of  course.  We  '11  put  the  cotton  in 
spection  bill  through  in  the  last  days  of  the  session  — 
see?  I  'm  manoeuvring  to  get  the  Southern  Congressmen 
into  line.  .  .  .  Oh,  one  thing.  Thompson  says  he 's 
a  little  worried  about  the  Negroes ;  says  there  's  something 
more  than  froth  in  the  talk  of  a  bolt  in  the  Northern 
Negro  vote.  We  may  have  to  give  them  a  little  extra 
money  and  a  few  more  minor  offices  than  usual.  Talk 
with  Thompson ;  the  Negroes  are  sweet  on  you  and  he  Js 
going  to  be  the  new  chairman  of  the  campaign,  you  know. 
Ever  met  him?" 

"  Yes." 

«  Well  —  so  long." 


MISS  CAROLINE  WYNN  235 

"  Just  a  moment,"  the  statesman  stayed  the  financier. 

"  Todd  just  let  fall  something  of  a  combination  against 
us  in  Congress  —  know  anything  of  it?" 

"  Not  definitely ;  I  heard  some  rumors.  Better  see  if 
you  can  run  it  down.  Well,  I  must  hurry  —  good  day." 

While  Bles  Alwyn  in  the  outer  office  was  waiting  and 
musing,  a  lady  came  in.  Out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye 
he  caught  the  curve  of  her  gown,  and  as  she  seated  herself 
beside  him,  the  suggestion  of  a  faint  perfume.  A  vague 
resentment  rose  in  him.  Colored  women  would  look  as 
well  as  that,  he  argued,  with  the  clothes  and  wealth  and 
training.  He  paused,  however,  in  his  thought :  he  did  not 
want  them  like  the  whites  —  so  cold  and  formal  and  pre 
cise,  without  heart  or  marrow.  He  started  up,  for  the 
secretary  was  speaking  to  him. 

"  Are  you  the  —  er  —  the  man  who  had  a  letter  to  the 
Senator  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Let  me  see  it.  Oh,  yes  —  he  will  see  you  in  a 
moment." 

Bles  was  returning  the  letter  to  his  pocket  when  he 
heard  a  voice  almost  at  his  ear. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  —  " 

He  turned  and  started.  It  was  the  lady  next  to  him, 
and  she  was  colored!  Not  extremely  colored,  but  un 
doubtedly  colored,  with  waving  black  hair,  light  brown 
skin,  and  the  fuller  facial  curving  of  the  darker  world. 
And  yet  Bles  was  surprised,  for  everything  else  about 
her  —  her  voice,  her  bearing,  the  set  of  her  gown,  her 
gloves  and  shoes,  the  whole  impression  was  —  Bles  hes 
itated  for  a  word  —  well,  "  white." 

"  Yes  —  yes,  ma'am,"  he  stammered,  becoming  sud 
denly  conscious  that  the  lady  had  now  a  second  time 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

asked  him  if  he  was  acquainted  with  Senator  Smith. 
"  That  is,  ma'am,"  —  why  was  he  saying  "  ma'am,"  like 
a  child  or  a  servant?  —  "I  know  his  sister  and  have  a 
letter  for  him." 

"  Do  you  live  in  Washington  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  No  —  but  I  want  to.  I  've  been  trying  to  get  in  as 
a  clerk,  and  I  have  n't  succeeded  yet.  That 's  what  I  'm 
going  to  see  Senator  Smith  about." 

"  Have  you  had  the  civil-service  examinations  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  made  ninety-three  in  the  examination  for  a 
treasury  clerkship." 

"  And  no  appointment  ?  I  see  —  they  are  not  partial 
to  us  there."  , 

Bles  was  glad  to  hear  her  say  "  us." 

She  continued  after  a  pause: 

"  May  I  venture  to  ask  a  favor  of  you?  " 

"  Certainly,"  he  responded. 

"  My  name  is  Wynn,"  lowering  her  voice  slightly  and 
leaning  toward  him.  "  There  are  so  many  ahead  of  me 
and  I  am  in  a  hurry  to  get  to  my  school;  but  I  must  see 
the  Senator  —  couldn't  I  go  in  with  you?  I  think  I 
might  be  of  service  in  this  matter  of  the  examination,  and 
then  perhaps  I  'd  get  a  chance  to  say  a  word  for  myself." 

"  I  'd  be  very  glad  to  have  you  come,"  said  Bles, 
cordially. 

The  secretary  hesitated  a  little  when  the  two  started 
in,  but  Miss  Wynn's  air  was  so  quietly  assured  that  he 
yielded. 

Senator  Smith  looked  at  the  tall,  straight  black  man 
with  his  smooth  skin  and  frank  eyes.  And  for  a  second 
time  that  morning  a  vision  of  his  own  youth  dimmed  his 
eyes.  But  he  spoke  coldly: 

"  Mr.  Alwyn,  I  believe." 


MISS  CAROLINE  WYNN  237 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"And—" 

"  My  friend,  Miss  Wynn." 

The  Senator  glanced  at  Miss  Wynn  and  she  bowed 
demurely.  Then  he  turned  to  Alwyn. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Alwyn,  Washington  is  a  bad  place  to  start 
in  the  world." 

Bles  looked  surprised  and  incredulous.  He  could  con 
ceive  of  no  finer  starting-place,  but  he  said  nothing. 

"  It  is  a  grave,"  continued  the  Senator,  "  of  ambitions 
and  ideals.  You  would  far  better  go  back  to  Alabama  " 
—  pausing  and  looking  at  the  young  man  keenly  < —  "  but 
you  won't  —  you  won't  —  not  yet,  at  any  rate."  And 
Bles  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"No  —  well,  what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"  I  want  work  —  I  '11  do  anything." 

"  No,  you  '11  do  one  thing  —  be  a  clerk,  and  then  if  you 
have  the  right  stuff  in  you  you  will  throw  up  that  job  in 
a  year  and  start  again." 

"  I  'd  like  at  least  to  try  it,  sir." 

"  Well,  I  can't  help  you  much  there ;  that 's  in 
civil-service,  and  you  must  take  the  examination." 

"  I  have,  sir." 

"  So?     Where,  and  what  mark?  " 

"  In  the  Treasury  Department ;  I  got  a  mark  of  ninety- 
three." 

"What!  —  and  no  appointment?"  The  Senator  was 
incredulous. 

"No,  sir;  not  yet." 

Here  Miss  Wynn  interposed. 

"  You  see,  Senator,"  she  said,  "  civil-service  rules  are 
not  always  impervious  to  race  prejudice." 

The  Senator  frowned. 


238   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  Do  you  mean  to  intimate  that  Mr.  Alwyn's  appoint 
ment  is  held  up  because  he  is  colored?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  Well  —  well !  "     The  Senator  rang  for  a  clerk. 

"  Get  me  the  Treasury  on  the  telephone." 

In  a  moment  the  bell  rang. 

"I  want  Mr.  Cole.  Is  that  you,  Mr.  Cole?  Good- 
morning.  Have  you  a  young  man  named  Alwyn  on  your 
eligible  list?  What?  Yes?"  A  pause.  "Indeed? 
Well,  why  has  he  no  appointment?  Of  course,  I  know, 
he  's  a  Negro.  Yes,  I  desire  it  very  much  —  thank  you." 

"  You  '11  get  an  appointment  to-morrow  morning," 
and  the  Senator  rose.  "How  is  my  sister?"  he  asked 
absently. 

"  She  was  looking  worried,  but  hopeful  of  the  new  en 
dowment  when  I  left."  The  Senator  held  out  his  hand; 
Bles  took  it  and  then  remembered. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  pardon,  but  Miss  Wynn  wanted  a  word  on 
another  matter." 

The  Senator  turned  to  Miss  Wynn. 

"  I  am  a  school-teacher,  Senator  Smith,  and  like  all 
the  rest  of  us  I  am  deeply  interested  in  the  appointment 
of  the  new  school-board." 

"  But  you  know  the  district  committee  attends  to  those 
things,"  said  the  Senator  hastily.  "  And  then,  too,  I 
believe  there  is  talk  of  abolishing  the  school-board  and 
concentrating  power  in  the  hands  of  the  superintendent." 

"  Precisely,"  said  Miss  Wynn.  "  And  I  came  to  tell 
you,  Senator  Smith,  that  the  interests  which  are  back  of 
this  attack  upon  the  schools  are  no  friends  of  yours." 
Miss  Wynn  extracted  from  her  reticule  a  typewritten 
paper. 

He   took   the   paper   and   read   it   intently.      Then   he 


MISS  CAROLINE  WYNN  239 

keenly  scrutinized  the  young  woman,  and  she  steadily  re 
turned  his  regard. 

"  How  am  I  to  know  this  is  true?  " 

"  Follow  it  up  and  see." 

He  mused. 

"  Where  did  you  get  these  facts  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

She  smiled. 

"  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say." 

"  And  yet,"  he  persisted,  "  if  I  were  sure  of  its  source 
I  would  know  my  ground  better  and  —  my  obligation  to 
you  would  be  greater." 

She  laughed  and  glanced  toward  Alwyn.  He  had 
moved  out  of  ear-shot  and  was  waiting  by  the  window. 

"  I  am  a  teacher  in  the  M  Street  High  School,"  she 
said,  "  and  we  have  some  intelligent  boys  there  who  work 
their  way  through." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Senator. 

"  Some,"  continued  Miss  Wynn,  tapping  her  boot  on 
the  carpet,  "  some  —  wait  on  table." 

The  Senator  slowly  put  the  paper  in  his  pocket. 

"  And  now,"  he  said,  "  Miss  Wynn,  what  can  I  do  for 
you?" 

She  looked  at  him. 

"  If  Judge  Haynes  is  reappointed  to  the  school-board 
I  shall  probably  continue  to  teach  in  the  M  Street  High 
School,"  she  said  slowly. 

The  Senator  made  a  memorandum  and  said: 

"  I  shall  not  forget  Miss  Wynn  —  nor  her  friends." 
And  he  bowed,  glancing  at  Alwyn. 

The  woman  contemplated  Bles  in  momentary  perplex 
ity,  then  bowing  in  turn,  left.  Bles  followed,  debat 
ing  just  what  he  ought  to  say,  how  far  he  might  venture 
to  accompany  her,  what  —  but  she  easily  settled  it  all. 


240    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  I  thank  you  —  good-bye,"  she  said  briefly  at  the  door, 
and  was  gone.  Bles  did  not  know  whether  to  feel  relieved 
or  provoked,  or  disappointed,  and  by  way  of  compromise 
felt  something  of  all  three. 

The  next  morning  he  received  notice  of  his  appoint 
ment  to  a  clerkship  in  the  Treasury  Department,  at  a 
salary  of  nine  hundred  dollars.  The  sum  seemed  fabulous 
and  he  was  in  the  seventh  heaven.  For  many  days  the 
consciousness  of  wealth,  the  new  duties,  the  street  scenes, 
and  the  city  life  kept  him  more  than  busy.  He  planned 
to  study,  and  arranged  with  a  professor  at  Howard  Uni 
versity  to  guide  him.  He  bought  an  armful  of  books  and 
a  desk,  and  plunged  desperately  to  work. 

Gradually  as  he  became  used  to  the  office  routine,  and 
in  the  hours  when  he  was  weary  of  study,  he  began  to  find 
time  hanging  a  little  heavily  on  his  hands ;  indeed  —  al 
though  he  would  not  acknowledge  it  —  he  was  getting 
lonesome,  homesick,  amid  the  myriad  men  of  a  busy  city. 
He  argued  to  himself  that  this  was  absurd,  and  yet  he 
knew  that  he  was  longing  for  human  companionship. 
When  he  looked  about  him  for  fellowship  he  found  himself 
in  a  strange  dilemma:  those  black  folk  in  whom  he  rec 
ognized  the  old  sweet-tempered  Negro  traits,  had  also 
looser,  uglier  manners  than  he  was  accustomed  to,  from 
which  he  shrank.  The  uE£^£-£j^£ses  of  Negroes,  on  the 
other  haueb.  ne  s^  observed^from  afar^they  were  stran 
gers  not  only  in  acquaintance  butjbecause  of  a  curious 
coldness  and  aloofness  that  made  them  cease  to  seem  his 
own  kind;  they  seemed  almost  at  times  like  black  white 
people  —  strangers  in  way  and  thought. 

He  tried  to  shake  off  this  feeling  but  it  clung,  and  at 
last  in  sheer  desperation,  he  promised  to  go  out  of  a 
night  with  a  fellow  clerk  who  rather  boasted  of  the 


MISS  CAROLINE  WYNN 

"  people  "  he  knew.  He  was  soon  tired  of  the  strange 
company,  and  had  turned  to  go  home,  when  he  met  a 
newcomer  in  the  doorway. 

"  Why,  hello,  Sam !  Sam  Stillings  !  "  he  exclaimed  de 
lightedly,  and  was  soon  grasping  the  hand  of  a  slim,  well- 
dressed  man  of  perhaps  thirty,  with  yellow  face,  curling 
hair,  and  shifting  eyes. 

"Well,  of  all  things,  Bles  —  er  —  ah  —  Mr.  Alwyn! 
Thought  you  were  hoeing  cotton." 

Bles  laughed  and  continued  shaking  his  hand.  He  was 
foolishly  glad  to  see  the  former  Cresswell  butler,  whom 
he  had  known  but  slightly.  His  face  brought  back  un- 
uttered  things  that  made  his  heart  beat  faster  and 
a  yearning  surge  within  him. 

"  I  thought  you  went  to  Chicago,"  cried  Bles. 

"  I  did,  but  goin'  into  politics  —  having  entered  the 
political  field,  I  came  here.  And  you  graduated,  I  sup 
pose,  and  all  that?  " 

"  No,"  Bles  admitted  a  little  sadly,  as  he  told  of  his 
coming  north,  and  of  Senator  Smith's  influence.    "  But  — 
but  how  are  —  all  ?  " 

Abruptly  Sam  hooked  his  arm  into  Alwyn's  and  pulled 
him  with  him  down  the  street.  Stillings  was  a  type.  Up 
from  servility  and  menial  service  he  was  struggling  to 
climb  to  money  and  power.  He  was  shrewd,  willing  to 
stoop  to  anything  in  order  to  win.  The  very  slights  and 
humiliations  of  prejudice  he  turned  to  his  advantage. 
When  he  learned  all  the  particulars  of  Alwyn's  visit  to 
Senator  Smith  and  his  cordial  reception  he  judged  it  best 
to  keep  in  touch  with  this  young  man,  and  he  forthwith 
invited  Bles  to  accompany  him  the  next  night  to  the 
Fifteenth  Street  Presbyterian  Church. 

"You'll  find  the  best  people  there,"  he  said;  "the 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

aristocracy.  The  Treble  Clef  gives  a  concert,  and  every 
body  that 's  anybody  will  be  there." 

They  met  again  the  following  evening  and  proceeded  to 
the  church.  It  was  a  simple  but  pleasant  auditorium, 
nearly  filled  with  well-dressed  people.  \  During  the  pro 
gramme  Bles  applauded  vociferously  every  number  that 
pleased  him,  which  is  to  say,  every  one  —  and  stamped 
his  feet,  until  he  realized  that  he  was  attracting  consider 
able  attention  to  himself.  Then  the  entertainment 
straightway  lost  all  its  charm;  he  grew  painfully  embar 
rassed,  and  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening  was  awk 
wardly  self-conscious. !  When  all  was  over,  the  audience 
rose  leisurely  and  stood  in  little  knots  and  eddies,  laugh 
ing  and  talking;  many  moved  forward  to  say  a  word  to 
the  singers  and  players.  Stillings  stepped  aside  to  a 
group  of  men,  and  Bles  was  left  miserably  alone.  *  A  man 
came  to  him,  a  white-faced  man,  with  slightly  curling 
close  gray  hair,  and  high-bred  ascetic  countenance. 

"  You  are  a  stranger?  "  he  asked  pleasantly,  and  Bles 
liked  him. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  answered,  and  they  fell  to  talking.  He 
discovered  that  this  was  the  pastor  of  the  church. 

"  Do  you  know  no  one  in  town  ?  " 

"  One  or  two  of  my  fellow  clerks  and  Mr.  Stillings. 
Oh,  yes,  I  've  met  Miss  Wynn." 

"  Why,  here  is  Miss  Wynn  now." 

Bles  turned.  She  was  right  behind  him,  the  centre  of 
a  group.  She  turned,  slowly,  and  smiled. 

"  Oh !  "  she  uttered  twice,  but  with  difference  cadence. 
Then  something  like  amusement  lurked  a  moment  in  her 
eye,  and  she  quietly  presented  Bles  to  her  friends,  while 
Stillings  hovered  unnoticed  in  the  offing  : 

"  Miss  Jones  —  Mr.  Alwyn  of  —  "  she  paused  a  sec 
ond  —  "  Alabama.  Miss  Taylor  —  Mr.  Alwyn  —  and," 


MISS  CAROLINE  WYNN 

with  a  backward  curving  of  her  neck,  "  Mr.  Teerswell," 
and  so  on.  Mr.  Teerswell  was  handsome  and  indolent, 
with  indecision  in  his  face  and  a  cynical  voice.  In  a 
moment  Bles  felt  the  subtle  antagonism  of  the  group.  He 
was  an  intruder.  Mr.  Teerswell  nodded  easily  and  turned 
away,  continuing  his  conversation  with  the  ladies. 

But  Miss  Wynn  was  perverse  and  interrupted.  "  I 
saw  you  enjoyed  the  concert,  Mr.  Alwyn,"  she  said,  and 
one  of  the  young  ladies  rippled  audibly.  Bles  darkened 
painfully,  realizing  that  these  people  must  have  been 
just  behind  him.  But  he  answered  frankly: 

"  Yes,  I  did  immensely  —  I  hope  I  did  n't  disturb  you ; 
you  see,  I  'm  not  used  to  hearing  such  singing." 

Mr.  Teerswell,  compelled  to  listen,  laughed  drily. 

"  Plantation  melodies,  I  suppose,  are  more  your  spe 
cialty,"  he  said  with  a  slight  cadence. 

"  Yes,"  said  Bles  simply.     A  slight  pause  ensued. 

Then  came  the  surprise  of  the  evening  for  Bles  Alwyn. 
Even  his  inexperienced  eye  could  discern  that  Miss  Wynn 
was  very  popular,  and  that  most  of  the  men  were  rivals 
for  her  attentions. 

"  Mr.  Alwyn,"  she  said  graciously,  rising,  "  I  'm  going 
to  trouble  you  to  see  me  to  my  door ;  it 's  only  a  block. 
Good-night,  all ! "  she  called,  but  she  bowed  to  Mr. 
Teerswell. 

Miss  Wynn  placed  her  hand  lightly  on  Bles's  arm,  and 
for  a  moment  he  paused.  A  thrill  ran  through  him  as  he 
felt  again  the  weight  of  a  little  hand  and  saw  beside  him 
the  dark  beautiful  eyes  of  a  girl.  He  felt  again  the  warm 
quiver  of  her  body.  Then  he  awoke  to  the  lighted  church 
and  the  moving,  well-dressed  throng.  The  hand  on  his 
arm  was  not  so  small;  but  it  was  well-gloved,  and  some 
how  the  fancy  struck  him  that  it  was  a  cold  hand  and  not 
always  sympathetic  in  its  touch. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  TRAINING  OF  ZORA 

I  DID  not  know  the  world  was  so  large,"  remarked 
Zora  as  she  and  Mrs.  Vanderpool  flew  east  and 
northward  on  the  New  York-New  Orleans  limited. 
For  a  long  time  the  girl  had  given  herself  up  to  the  sheer 
delight  of  motion.  Gazing  from  the  window,  she  com 
pared  the  lands  she  passed  with  the  lands  she  knew:  not 
ing  the  formation  of  the  cotton;  the  kind  and  growth  of 
the  trees ;  the  state  of  the  roads.  Then  the  comparisons 
became  infinite,  endless;  the  world  stretched  on  and  on 
until  it  seemed  mere  distance,  and  she  suddenly  realized 
how  vast  a  thing  it  was  and  spoke. 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  was  amused.  "  It 's  much  smaller 
than  one  would  think,"  she  responded. 

When  they  came  to  Atlanta  Zora  stared  and  wrinkled 
her  brows.  It  was  her  first  large  city.  The  other  towns 
were  replicas  of  Toomsville;  strange  in  number,  not  in 
kind;  but  this  was  different,  and  she  could  not  under 
stand  it.  It  seemed  senseless  and  unreasonable,  and  yet 
so  strangely  so  that  she  was  at  a  loss  to  ask  questions. 
She  was  very  solemn  as  they  rode  on  and  night  came 
down  with  dreams. 

She  awoke  in  Washington  to  new  fairylands  and  won 
ders  ;  the  endless  going  and  coming  of  men ;  great  piles 

] 


THE  TRAINING  OF  ZORA  245 

that  challenged  heaven,  and  homes  crowded  on  homes  till 
one  could  not  believe  that  they  were  full  of  living  things. 
They  rolled  by  Baltimore  and  Philadelphia,  and  she 
talked  of  every-day  matters:  of  the  sky  which  alone  stood 
steadfast  amid  whirling  change;  of  bits  of  empty  earth 
that  shook  themselves  here  and  there  loose  from  their 
burden  of  men,  and  lay  naked  in  the  cold  shining  sunlight. 

All  the  while  the  greater  questions  were  beating  and 
curling  and  building  themselves  back  in  her  brain,  and 
above  all  she  was  wondering  why  no  one  had  told  her 
before  of  all  this  mighty  world.  Mrs.  Vanderpool,  to 
whom  it  seemed  too  familiar  for  comment,  had  said  no 
word;  or,  if  she  had  spoken,  Zora's  ears  had  not  been 
tuned  to  understand;  and  as  they  flew  toward  the  tower 
ing  ramparts  of  New  York,  she  sat  up  big  with  the  terror 
of  a  new  thought:  suppose  this  world  were  full  yet  of 
things  she  did  not  know  nor  dream  of?  How  could  she 
find  out?  She  must  know. 

When  finally  they  were  settled  in  New  York  and  sat 
high  up  on  the  Fifth  Avenue  front  of  the  hotel,  gradually 
the  inarticulate  questioning  found  words,  albeit  strange 
ones. 

"  It  reminds  me  of  the  swamp,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Vanderpool,  just  returned  from  a  shopping  tour, 
burst  into  laughter. 

"  It  is  —  but  I  marvel  at  your  penetration." 

"  I  mean,  it  is  moving  —  always  moving." 

"  The  swamp  seemed  to  me  unearthly  still." 

"  Yes  —  yes,"  cried  Zora,  eagerly,  brushing  back  the 
rumpled  hair ;  "  and  so  did  the  city,  at  first,  to  me." 

"Still!    New  York?" 

"  Yes.  You  see,  I  saw  the  buildings  and  forgot  the 
men;  and  the  buildings  were  so  tall  and  silent  against 


246    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

Heaven.  And  then  I  came  to  see  the  people,  and  suddenly 
I  knew  the  city  was  like  the  swamp,  always  restless  and 
changing." 

"And  more  beautiful?"  suggested  Mrs.  Vanderpool, 
slipping  her  arms  into  her  lounging-robe. 

"  Oh,  no ;  not  nearly  so  beautiful.  And  yet  —  more 
interesting."  Then  with  a  puzzled  look:  "I  wonder 
why?" 

"  Perhaps  because  it 's  people  and  not  things." 

"  It 's  people  in  the  swamp,"  asserted  Zora,  dreamily, 
smoothing  out  the  pillows  of  the  couch,  "  '  little  people,' 
I  call  them.  The  difference  is,  I  think,  that  there  I  know 
how  the  story  will  come  out;  everything  is  changing,  but 
I  know  how  and  why  and  from  what  and  to  what.  Now 
here,  everything  seems  to  be  happening;  but  what  is  it 
that  is  happening?  " 

"  You  must  know  what  has  happened,  to  know  what 
may  happen,"  said  Mrs.  Vanderpool. 

"  But  how  can  I  know?  " 

"  I  '11  get  you  some  books  to-morrow." 

"  I  'd  like  to  know  what  it  means,"  wistfully. 

"  It  is  meaningless."  The  woman's  cynicism  was  lost 
upon  Zora,  of  course,  but  it  possessed  the  salutary  effect 
of  stimulating  the  girl's  thoughts,  encouraging  her  to  dis 
cover  for  herself. 

"  I  think'  not ;  so  much  must  mean  something,"  she 
protested. 

Zora  gathered  up  the  clothes  and  things  and  shaded 
the  windows,  glancing  the  while  down  on  the  street. 

"  Everybody  is  going,  going,"  she  murmured.  "  I 
wonder  where.  Don't  they  ever  get  there  ?  " 

"  Few  arrive,"  said  Mrs.  Vanderpool.  Zora  softly  bent 
and  passed  her  cool  soft  hand  over  her  forehead. 


THE  TRAINING  OF  ZORA  247 

"  Then  why  do  they  go?  " 

"  The  zest  of  the  search,  perhaps." 

"  No,"  said  Zora  as  she  noiselessly  left  the  room  and 
closed  the  door ;  "  no,  they  are  searching  for  something 
they  have  lost.  Perhaps  they,  too,  are  searching  for  the 
Way,"  and  the  tears  blinded  her  eyes. 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  lay  in  the  quiet  darkened  room  with  a 
puzzled  smile  on  her  lips.  A  month  ago  she  had  not 
dreamed  that  human  interest  in  anybody  would  take  so 
strong  a  hold  upon  her  as  her  liking  for  Zora  had  done. 
She  was  a  woman  of  unusual  personal  charm,  but  her  own 
interest  and  affections  were  seldom  stirred.  Had  she  been 
compelled  to  earn  a  living  she  would  have  made  a  success 
ful  teacher  or  manipulator  of  men.  As  it  was,  she  viewed 
the  human  scene  with  detached  and  cynical  interest.  She 
had  no  children,  few  near  relations,  a  husband  who  went 
his  way  and  still  was  a  gentleman. 

Essentially  Mrs.  Vanderpool  was  unmoral.  She  held 
the  code  of  her  social  set  with  sportsmanlike  honor;  but 
even  beyond  this  she  stooped  to  no  intrigue,  because  none 
interested  her.  She  had  all  the  elements  of  power  save 
the  motive  for  doing  anything  in  particular.  For  the 
first  time,  perhaps,  Zora  gave  her  life  a  peculiar  human 
interest.  She  did  not  love  the  girl,  but  she  was  intensely 
interested  in  her;  some  of  the  interest  was  selfish,  for 
Zora  was  going  to  be  a  perfect  maid.  The  girl's  language 
came  to  be  more  and  more  like  Mrs.  Vanderpool's ;  her 
dress  and  taste  in  adornment  had  been  Mrs.  VanderpooPs 
first  care,  and  it  led  to  a  curious  training  in  art  and  sense 
of  beauty  until  the  lady  now  and  then  found  herself  learner 
before  the  quick  suggestiveness  of  Zora's  mind. 

When  Mrs.  Harry  Cresswell  called  a  month  or  so  later 
the  talk  naturally  included  mention  of  Zora.  Mary  was 


248    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

happy  and  vivacious,  and  noted  the  girl's  rapid 
development. 

"I  wonder  what  I  shall  make  out  of  her?"  queried 
Mrs.  Vanderpool.  "  Do  you  know,  I  believe  I  could  mould 
her  into  a  lady  if  she  were  not  black." 

Mary  Cresswell  laughed.     "With  that  hair?" 

"  It  has  artistic  possibilities.  You  should  have  seen 
my  hair-dresser's  face  when  I  told  her  to  do  it  up.  Her 
face  and  Zora's  were  a  pantomine  for  the  gods.  Yet  it 
was  done.  It  lay  in  some  great  twisted  cloud  and  in  that 
black  net  gown  of  mine  Zora  was  simply  magnificent. 
Her  form  is  perfect,  her  height  is  regal,  her  skin  is  satin, 
and  my  jewels  found  a  resting  place  at  last.  Jewels,  you 
know,  dear,  were  never  meant  for  white  folk.  I  was 
tempted  to  take  her  to  the  box  at  the  opera  and  let  New 
York  break  its  impudent  neck." 

Mary  was  shocked. 

"But,  Mrs.  Vanderpool,"  she  protested,  "is  it  right? 
Is  it  fair?  Why  should  you  spoil  this  black  girl  and  put 
impossible  ideas  into  her  head?  You  can  make  her  a 
perfect  maid,  but  she  can  never  be  much  more  in  America." 

"  She  is  a  perfect  maid  now ;  that 's  the  miracle  of  it  — 
she  's  that  deft  and  quick  and  quiet  and  thoughtful !  The 
hotel  employees  think  her  perfect ;  my  friends  rave  — 
really,  I  'm  the  most  blessed  of  women.  But  do  you  know 
I  like  the  girl?  I  —  well,  I  think  of  her  future." 

"  It.'s  wrong  to  treat  her  as  you  do.  You  make  her 
an  equal.  Her  room  is  one  of  the  best  and  filled  with 
books  and  bric-a-brac.  She  sometimes  eats  with  you  — 
is  your  companion,  in  fact." 

"  What  of  it?  She  loves  to  read,  and  I  guide  her  while 
she  keeps  me  up  on  the  latest  stuff.  She  can  talk  much  bet 
ter  than  many  of  my  friends  and  then  she  piques  my 


THE  TRAINING  OF  ZORA  249 

curiosity :  she  's  a  sort  of  intellectual  sauce  that  stirs  my 
rapidly  failing  mental  appetite.  I  think  that  as  soon  as 
I  can  make  up  my  mind  to  spare  her,  I  '11  take  her  to 
France  and  marry  her  off  in  the  colonies." 

"  Well,  that 's  possible ;  but  one  does  n't  easily  give  up 
good  servants.  By  the  way,  I  learn  from  Miss  Smith  that 
the  boy,  Bles  Alwyn,  in  whom  Zora  was  so  interested,  is 
a  clerk  in  the  Treasury  Department  at  Washington." 

"  Indeed !  I  'm  going  to  Washington  this  winter ;  I  '11 
look  him  over  and  see  if  he 's  worth  Zora  —  which  I 
greatly  doubt." 

Mrs.  Cresswell  pursed  her  lips  and  changed  the 
subject. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  Easterlys  ?  " 

"  The  ladies  left  their  cards  —  they  are  quite  impos 
sible.  Mr.  Easterly  calls  this  afternoon.  I  can't  imagine 
why,  but  he  asked  for  an  appointment.  Will  you  go 
South  with  Mr.  Cresswell?  I  'm  glad  to  hear  he  's  enter 
ing  politics." 

"  No,  I  shall  do  some  early  house  hunting  in  Washing 
ton,"  said  Mrs.  Cresswell,  rising  as  Mr.  Easterly  was 
announced. 

Mr.  Easterly  was  not  at  home  in  Mrs.  Vanderpool's 
presence.  She  spoke  a  language  different  from  his,  and 
she  had  shown  a  disconcerting  way,  in  the  few  times  when 
he  had  spoken  with  her,  of  letting  the  weight  of  the  con 
versation  rest  on  him.  He  felt  very  distinctly  that  Mrs. 
Vanderpool  was  not  particularly  desirous  of  his  company, 
nor  that  of  his  family.  Nevertheless,  he  needed  Mrs. 
Vanderpool's  influence  just  now,  and  he  was  willing  to 
pay  considerable  for  it.  Once  under  obligation  to  him  her 
services  would  be  very  valuable.  He  was  glad  to  find 
Mrs.  Cresswell  there.  It  showed  that  the  Cresswells  were 


250   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

still  intimate,  and  the  Cresswells  were  bound  to  him  and 
his  interests  by  strong  ties.  He  bowed  as  Mrs,  Cress- 
well  left,  and  then  did  not  beat  around  the  bush  because, 
in  this  case,  he  did  not  know  how. 

"  Mrs.  Vanderpool,  I  need  your  aid." 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  smiled  politely,  and  murmured  some 
thing. 

"  We  are,  you  know,  in  the  midst  of  a  rather  warm- 
presidential  campaign,"  continued  Mr.  Easterly. 

"Yes?"  with  polite  interest. 

"  We  are  going  to  win  easily,  but  our  majority  in  Con 
gress  for  certain  matters  will  depend  on  the  attitude  of 
Southerners  and  you  usually  spend  the  winters  in  Wash 
ington.  If,  now,  you  could  drop  a  word  here  and 
there  —  " 

"But  why  should  I?"  asked  Mrs.  Vanderpool. 

"  Mrs.  Vanderpool,  to  be  frank,  I  know  some  excel 
lent  investments  that  your  influence  in  this  line  would 
help.  I  take  it  you  're  not  so  rich  but  that  —  " 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  smiled  faintly. 

"  Really,  Mr.  Easterly,  I  know  little  about  such  mat 
ters  and  care  less.  I  have  food  and  clothes.  Why  worry 
with  more?  " 

Mr.  Easterly  half  expected  this  and  he  determined  to 
deliver  his  last  shot  on  the  run.  He  arose  with  a  dis 
appointed  air. 

"  Of  course,  Mrs.  Vanderpool,  I  see  how  it  is :  you 
have  plenty  and  one  can't  expect  your  services  or  in 
fluence  for  nothing.  It  had  occurred  to  me  that  your 
husband  might  like  something  political;  but  I  presume 
not." 

"  Something  political?  " 

"  Yes.     You  see,  it 's  barely  possible,  for  instance,  that 


THE  TRAINING  OF  ZORA  251 

there  will  be  a  change  in  the  French  ambassadorship. 
The  present  ambassador  is  old  and  —  well,  I  don't  know, 
but  as  I  say,  it 's  possible.  Of  course  though,  that  may 
not  appeal  to  you,  and  I  can  only  beg  your  good  offices 
in  charity  if  —  if  you  see  your  way  to  help  us.  Well, 
I  must  be  going." 

"  What  is  —  I  thought  the  President  appointed  ambas 
sadors." 

"  To  be  sure,  but  we  appoint  Presidents,"  laughed  Mr. 
Easterly.  "  Good-day.  I  shall  hope  to  .see  you  in  Wash 
ington." 

"  Good-day,"  Mrs.  Vanderpool  returned  absently. 

After  he  had  gone  she  walked  slowly  to  Zora's  room 
and  opened  the  door.  For  a  long  time«she  stood  quietly 
looking  in.  Zora  was  curled  in  a  chair  with  a  book.  She 
was  in  dreamland;  in  a  world  of  books  builded  thought 
fully  for  her  by  Mrs.  Vanderpool,  and  before  that  by 
Miss  Smith.  Her  work  took  but  little  of  her  time  and 
left  hours  for  reading  and  thinking.  In  that  thought- 
life,  more  and  more  her  real  living  centred. 

Hour  after  hour,  day  after  day,  she  lay  buried,  deaf 
and  dumb  to  all  else.  Her  heart  cried,  up  on  the  World's 
four  corners  of  the  Way,  and  to  it  came  the  Vision  Splen 
did.  She  gossiped  with  old  Herodotus  across  the  earth 
to  the  black  and  blameless  Ethiopians;  she  saw  the 
sculptured  glories  of  Phidias  marbled  amid  the  splendor 
of  the  swamp:  she  listened  to  Demosthenes  and  walked 
the  Appian  Way  with  Cornelia  —  while  all  New  York 
streamed  beneath  her  window. 

She  saw  the  drunken  Goths  reel  upon  Rome  and  heard 
the  careless  Negroes  yodle  as  they  galloped  to  Tooms- 
ville.  Paris,  she  knew, —  wonderful,  haunting  Paris:  the 
Paris  of  Clovis,  and  St.  Louis;  of  Louis  the  Great,  and 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

Napoleon  III;  of  Balzac,  and  her  own  Dumas.  She 
tasted  the  mud  and  comfort  of  thick  old  London,  and 
the  while  wept  with  Jeremiah  and  sang  with  Deborah, 
Semiramis,  and  Atala.  Mary  of  Scotland  and  Joan  of 
Arc  held  her  dark  hands  in  theirs,  and  Kings  lifted  up 
their  sceptres. 

She  walked  on  worlds,  and  worlds  of  worlds,  and  heard 
there  in  her  little  room  the  tread  of  armies,  the  paeans 
of  victory,  the  breaking  of  hearts,  and  the  music  of  the 
spheres. 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  watched  her  a  while. 

"  Zora,"  she  presently  broke  into  the  girl's  absorption, 
"  how  would  we  like  to  be  Ambassador  to  France  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  EDUCATION  OF  ALWYN 

MISS  CAROLINE  WYNN  of  Washington  had 
little  faith  in  the  world  and  its  people.  Nor 
was  this  wholly  her  fault.  [The  world  had  dealt 
cruelly  with  the  young  dreams  and  youthful  ambitions 
of  the  girl;  partly  with  its  usual  heartlessness,  partly 
with  that  cynical  and  deadening  reserve  fund  which  it 
has  to-day  for  its  darker  peoples.J  The  girl  had  bitterly 
resented  her  experiences  at  first:  she  was  brilliant  and 
well-trained;  she  had  a  real  talent  for  sculpture,  and 
had  studied  considerably;  she  was  sprung  from  at  least 
three  generations  of  respectable  mulattoes,  who  had  left 
a  little  competence  which  yielded  her  three  or  four  hun 
dred  dollars  a  year.  Furthermore,  while  not  precisely 
pretty,  she  was  good-looking  and  interesting,  and  she  had 
acquired  the  marks  and  insignia  of  good  breeding.  Per 
haps  she  wore  her  manners  just  a  trifle  consciously; 
perhaps  she  was  a  little  morbid  that  she  would  fail  of 
recognition  as  a  lady.  Nor  was  this  unnatural:  her 
brown  skin  invited  a  different  assumption.  Despite  this 
almost  unconscious  mental  aggressiveness,  she  was  un 
usually  presentable  and  always  well-gowned  and  pleasant 
of  speech.  Yet  she  found  nearly  all  careers  closed  to 
her.  At  first  it  seemed  accidental,  the  luck  of  life.  Then 

[253] 


254    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

she  attributed  it  to  her  sex;  but  at  last  she  was  sure 
that,  beyond  chance  and  womanhood,  it  was  the  color- 
line  that  was  hemming  her  in.  Once  convinced  of  this, 
she  let  her  imagination  play  and  saw  the  line  even  where 
it  did  not  exist. 

With  her  bit  of  property  and  brilliant  parts  she  had  had 
many  suitors  but  they  had  been  refused  one  after  another 
for  reasons  she  could  hardly  have  explained.  For  years 
now  Tom  Teerswell  had  been  her  escort.  Whether  or  not 
Caroline  Wynn  would  ever  marry  him  was  a  perennial 
subject  of  speculation  among  their  friends  and  it  usually 
ended  in  the  verdict  that  she  could  not  afford  it  —  that 
it  was  financially  impossible. 

Nevertheless,  the  two  were  usually  seen  in  public  to 
gether,  and  although  she  often  showed  her  quiet  mastery 
of  the  situation,  seldom  had  she  snubbed  him  so  openly 
as  at  the  Treble  Clef  concert. 

Teerswell  was  furious  and  began  to  plot  vengeance; 
but  Miss  Wynn  was  attracted  by  the  personality  of  Bles 
Alwyn.  Southern  country  Negroes  were  rare  in  her  set, 
but  here  was  a  man  of  intelligence  and  keenness  coupled 
with  an  amazing  frankness  and  modesty,  and  perceptibly 
shadowed  by  sorrow.  The  combination  was,  so  far  as 
she  had  observed,  both  rare  and  temporary  and  she  was 
disposed  to  watch  it  in  this  case  purely  as  a  matter  of 
intellectual  curiosity.  At  the  door  of  her  home,  there 
fore,  after  a  walk  of  unusual  interest,  she  said: 

"  I  'm  going  to  have  a  few  friends  in  next  Tuesday 
night;  won't  you  come,  Mr.  Alwyn?"  And  Mr.  Alwyn 
said  that  he  would. 

Next  morning  Miss  Wynn  rather  repented  her  hasty 
invitation,  but  of  course  nothing  could  be  done  now. 
Nothing?  Well,  there  was  one  thing;  and  she  went  to 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  ALWYN  255 

the  telephone.  A  suggestion  to  Bles  that  he  might 
profitably  extend  his  acquaintance  sent  him  to  a  certain 
tailor  shop  kept  by  a  friend  of  hers ;  a  word  to  the  tailor 
guarded  against  the  least  suspicion  of  intrigue  entering 
Bles's  head. 

It  turned  out  quite  as  Miss  Wynn  had  designed;  Mr. 
Grey,  the  tailor,  gave  Bles  some  points  on  dressing,  and 
made  him,  Southern  fashion,  a  frock-coat  for  dress  wear 
that  set  off  his  fine  figure.  On  the  night  of  the  gathering 
at  Miss  Wynn's  Bles  dressed  with  care,  hesitating  long 
over  a  necktie,  but  at  last  choosing  one  which  he  had 
recently  purchased  and  which  pleased  him  particularly. 
He  was  prompt  to  the  minute  and  was  consequently  the 
first  guest;  but  Miss  Wynn's  greeting  was  so  quietly 
cordial  that  his  embarrassment  soon  fled.  She  looked 
him  over  at  leisure  and  sighed  at  his  tie;  otherwise  he 
was  thoroughly  presentable  according  to  the  strictest 
Washington  standard. 

They  sat  down  and  talked  of  generalities.  Then  an 
idea  occurring  to  her,  she  conducted  the  conversation  by 
devious  paths  to  ties  and  asked  Alwyn  if  he  had  heard 
of  the  fad  of  collecting  ties.  He  had  not,  and  she  showed 
him  a  sofa  pillow. 

"  Your  tie  quite  attracted  me,"  she  said ;  "  it  would 
make  just  the  dash  of  color  I  need  in  my  new  pillow." 

"  You  may  have  it  and  welcome.     I  '11  send  —  " 

"  Oh,  no !  A  bird  in  the  hand,  you  know.  I  '11  trade 
with  you  now  for  another  I  have." 

"  Done !  " 

The  exchange  was  soon  made,  Miss  Wynn  tying  the 
new  one  herself  and  sticking  a  small  carved  pin  in  it. 
Bles  slowly  sat  down  again,  and  after  a  pause  said, 
"  Thank  you." 


256    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

She  looked  up  quickly,  but  he  seemed  quite  serious  and 
good-natured. 

"  You  see,"  he  explained,  "  in  the  country  we  don't 
know  much  about  ties." 

The  well-balanced  Miss  Wynn  for  a  moment  lost  her 
aplomb,  but  only  for  a  moment. 

"  We  must  all  learn,"  she  replied  with  penetration,  and 
so  their  friendship  was  established. 

The  company  now  began  to  gather,  and  soon  the  double 
parlor  held  an  assemblage  of  twenty-five  or  thirty  per 
sons.  They  formed  a  picturesque  group:  conventional 
but  graceful  in  dress;  animated  in  movement;  full  of 
good-natured  laughter,  but  quite  un-American  in  the  beau 
tiful  modulation  of  their  speaking  tones  ;  chiefly  noticeable, 
however,  to  a  stranger,  in  the  vast  variety  of  color  in 
skin,  which  imparted  to  the  throng  a  piquant  and  un 
usual  interest.  Every  color  was  here;  from  the  dark 
brown  of  Alwyn,  who  was  customarily  accounted  black, 
to  the  pale  pink-white  of  Miss  Jones,  who  could  "  pass  for 
white  "  when  she  would,  and  found  her  greatest  difficulties 
when  she  was  trying  to  "  pass  "  for  black.  Midway  be 
tween  these  two  extremes  lay  the  sallow  pastor  of  the 
church,  the  creamy  Miss  Williams,  the  golden  yellow  of 
Mr.  Teerswell,  the  golden  brown  of  Miss  Johnson,  and 
the  velvet  brown  of  Mr.  Grey.  The  guests  themselves 
did  not  notice  this ;  they  were  used  to  asking  one's  color 
as  one  asks  of  height  and  weight;  it  was  simply  an  extra 
dimension  in  their  world  whereby  to  classify  men. 

Beyond  this  and  their  hair,  there  was  little  to  distin 
guish  them  from  a  modern  group  of  men  and  women.  The 
speech  was  a  softened  English,  purely  and,  on  the  whole, 
correctly  spoken  —  so  much  so  that  it  seemed  at  first 
almost  unfamiliar  to  Bles,  and  he  experienced  again  the 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  ALWYN  257 

uncomfortable  feeling  of  being  among  strangers.  Then, 
too,  he  missed  the  loud  but  hearty  good-nature  of  what 
he  had  always  called  "  his  people."  To  be  sure,  a  more 
experienced  observer  might  have  noted  a  lively,  excitable 
tropical  temperament  set  and  cast  in  a  cold  Northern 
mould,  and  yet  flashing  fire  now  and  then  in  a  sudden 
anomalous  outbursting.  But  Bles  missed  this ;  he  seemed 
to  have  slipped  and  lost  his  bearings,  and  the  character 
istics  of  his  simple  world  were  rolling  curiously  about. 
Here  stood  a  black  man  with  a  white  man's  voice,  and 
yonder  a  white  woman  with  a  Negro's  musical  cadences ; 
and  yet  again,  a  brown  girl  with  exactly  Miss  Cresswell's 
air,  and  yonder,  Miss  Williams,  with  Zora's  wistful  wil- 
fulness. 

Bles  was  bewildered  and  silent,  and  his  great  undying 
sorrow  sank  on  his  heart  with  sickening  hopeless  weight. 
His  hands  got  in  the  way,  and  he  found  no  natural  nook 
in  all  those  wide  and  tastefully  furnished  rooms.  Once 
he  discovered  himself  standing  by  a  marble  statue  of  a 
nude  woman,  and  he  edged  away;  then  he  stumbled  over 
a  rug  and  saved  himself  only  to  step  on  Miss  Jones's 
silken  train.  Miss  Jones's  smile  of  pardon  was  wintry. 
When  he  did  approach  a  group  and  listen,  they  seemed 
speaking  of  things  foreign  to  him  —  usually  of  people  he 
did  not  know,  their  homes,  their  doings,  their  daughters 
and  their  fathers.  They  seemed  to  know  people  intimately 
who  lived  far  away. 

"  You  mean  the  Smiths  of  Boston?  "  asked  Miss  Jones. 

"  No,  of  Cleveland.     They  're  not  related." 

"  I  heard  that  McGhee  of  St.  Paul  will  be  in  the  city 
next  week  with  his  daughter." 

"  Yes,  and  the  Bentleys  of  Chicago." 

Bles  passed  on.     He  was  disappointed.     He  was   full 


258    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

of  things  to  say,  of  mighty  matters  to  discuss;  he  felt 
like  stopping  these  people  and  crying :  "  Ho !  What 
of  the  morning?  How  goes  the  great  battle  for  black 
men's  rights?  I  have  came  with  messages  from  the  host, 
to  you  who  guard  the  mountain  tops." 

Apparently  they  were  not  discussing  or  caring  about 
^  the  Problem."  He  grew  disgusted  and  was  edging  to 
ward  the  cloor  when  he  encountered  his  hostess. 

"  Is  all  well  with  you,  Mr.  Alwyn  ?  "  she  asked  lightly. 

"No,  I'm  not  enjoying  myself,"  said  Bles,  truthfully. 

"  Delicious  !     And  why  not?  " 

He  regarded  her  earnestly. 

"  There  are  so  many  things  to  talk  about,"  he  said ; 
"  earnest  things ;  things  of  importance.  I  —  I  think 
when  our  people  —  "  he  hesitated.  Our?  —  was  our  right ? 
But  he  went  on :  "  When  our  people  meet  we  ought  to  talk 
of  our  situation,  and  what  to  do  and  —  " 

Miss  Wynn  continued  to  smile. 

"  We  're  all  talking  of  it  all  the  time,"  she  said. 

He  looked  incredulous. 

"  Yes,  we  are,"  she  insisted.  "  We  veil  it  a  little,  and 
laugh  as  lightly  as  we  can ;  but  there  is  only  one  thought 
in  this  room,  and  that 's  grave  and  serious  enough  to 
suit  even  you,  and  quite  your  daily  topic," 

"  But  I  don't  understand." 

"  Ah,  there  's  the  rub.  You  have  n't  learned  our  lan 
guage  yet.  We  don't  just  blurt  into  the  Negro  Prob 
lem  ;  that 's  voted  bad  form.  We  leave  that  to  our  white 
friends.  We  saunter  to  it  sideways,  touch  it  delicately 
because  "  — -  her  face  became  a  little  graver  —  "  because, 
you  see,  it  hurts." 

Bles  stood  thoughtful  and  abashed. 

"I  —  I  think  I  understand,"  he  gravely  said  at  last. 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  ALWYN  259 

"  Come  here,"  she  said  with  a  sudden  turn,  and  they 
joined  an  absorbed  group  in  the  midst  of  a  conversa 
tion. 

"  —  Thinking  of  sending  Jessie  to  Bryn  Mawr,"  Bles 
heard  Miss  Jones  saying. 

"Could  she  pass?" 

"  Oh,  they  might  think  her  Spanish." 

"  But  it 's  a  snobbish  place  and  she  would  have  to  give 
up  all  her  friends." 

"  Yes,  Freddie  could  scarcely  visit  —  '  the  rest  was 
lost. 

"  Which,  being  interpreted,"  whispered  Miss  Wynn, 
"  means  that  Bryn  Mawr  draws  the  color  line  while  we 
at  times  surmount  it." 

They  moved  on  to  another  group. 

"  —  Splendid  draughtsman,"  a  man  was  saying,  "  and 
passed  at  the  head  of  the  crowd;  but,  of  course,  he  has 
no  chance." 

"  Why,  it 's  civil-service,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"It  is.     But  what  of  that?     There  was  Watson  —  " 

Miss  Wynn  did  not  pause.  She  whispered :  "  This  is 
the  tale  of  Civil  Service  Reform,  and  how  this  mighty 
government  gets  rid  of  black  men  who  know  too  much." 

"  But  —  "  Bles  tried  to  protest. 

"  Hush,"  Miss  Wynn  commanded  and  they  joined  the 
group  about  the  piano.  Teerswell,  who  was  speaking, 
affected  not  to  notice  them,  and  continued  : 

"  —  I  tell  you,  it 's  got  to  come.  We  must  act  inde 
pendently  and  not  be  bought  by  a  few  offices." 

"  That  9s  all  well  enough  for  you  to  talk,  Teerswell ; 
you  have  no  wife  and  babies  dependant  on  you.  Why 
should  we  who  have  sacrifice  the  substance  for  the 
shadow?" 


260   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  You  see,  the  Judge  has  got  the  substance,"  laughed 
Teerswell.  "  Still  I  insist :  divide  and  conquer." 

"  Nonsense !     Unite,  and  keep." 

Bles  was  puzzled. 

"  They  're  talking  of  the  coming  campaign,"  said  Miss 
Wynn.  " 

"  What !  "   exclaimed   Bles    aloud.      "  You   don't   mean 
that  any  one  can  advise  a  black  man  to  vote  the  Demo 
cratic  ticket?  " 

An  elderly  man  turned  to  them. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  he  said;  "  that  is  just  my  attitude; 
I  fought  for  my  freedom.  I  know  what  slavery  is ;  may 
I  forget  God  when  I  vote  for  traitors  and  slave-holders." 

The  discussion  waxed  warm  and  Miss  Wynn  turned 
away  and  sought  Miss  Jones. 

"Come,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "it's  'The  Problem' 
again."  They  sauntered  away  toward  a  ring  of  laughter. 

The  discussion  thus  begun  at  Miss  Wynn's  did  not  end 
there.  It  was  on  the  eve  of  the  great  party  conventions, 
and  the  next  night  Sam  Stillings  came  around  to  get 
some  crumbs  from  this  assembly  of  the  inner  circle,  into 
which  Alwyn  had  been  so  unaccountably  snatched,  and 
outside  of  which,  despite  his  endeavors,  Stillings  lingered 
and  seemed  destined  to  linger.  But  Stillings  was  a  pa 
tient,  resolute  man  beneath  his  deferential  exterior,  and 
he  saw  in  Bles  a  stepping  stone.  So  he  began  to  drop 
in  at  his  lodgings  and  to-night  invited  him  to  the  Bethel 
Literary. 

"  What 's  that?  "  asked  Bles. 

"  A  debating  club  —  oldest  in  the  city ;  the  best  people 
all  attend." 

Bles  hesitated.  He  had  half  made  up  his  mind  that 
this  was  the  proper  time  to  call  on  Miss  Wynn.  He  told 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  ALWYN  261 

Stillings  so,  and  told  him  also  of  the  evening  and  the 
discussion. 

"  Why,  that 's  the  subject  up  to-night,"  Stillings  de 
clared,  "  and  Miss  Wynn  will  be  sure  to  be  there.  You 
can  make  your  call  later.  Perhaps  you  wouldn't  mind 
taking  me  when  you  call."  Alwyn  reached  for  his  hat. 

When  they  arrived,  the  basement  of  the  great  church 
was  filling  with  a  throng  of  men  and  women.  Soon  the 
officers  and  the  speaker  of  the  evening  appeared.  The 
president  was  a  brown  woman  who  spoke  easily  and  well, 
and  introduced  the  main  speaker.  He  was  a  tall,  thin, 
hatchet-faced  black  man,  clean  shaven  and  well  dressed, 
a  lawyer  by  profession.  His  theme  was  "  The  Democratic 
Party  and  the  Negro."  His  argument  was  cool,  carefully 
reasoned,  and  plausible.  He  was  evidently  feeling  for  the 
sympathy  of  his  audience,  and  while  they  were  not  en 
thusiastic,  they  warmed  to  him  gradually  and  he  certainly 
was  strongly  impressing  them. 

Bles  was  thinking.  He  sat  in  the  back  of  the  hall, 
tense,  alert,  nervous.  As  the  speaker  progressed  a  white 
man  came  in  and  sat  down  beside  him.  He  was  spectacled, 
with  bushy  eyebrows  and  a  sleepy  look.  But  he  did  not 
sleep.  He  was  very  observant. 

"  Who  's  speaking?  "  he  asked  Bles,  and  Bles  told  him. 
Then  he  inquired  about  one  or  two  other  persons.  Bles 
could  not  inform  him,  but  Stillings  could  and  did.  Still 
ings  seemed  willing  to  devote  considerable  time  to  him. 

Bles  forgot  the  man.  He  was  almost  crouching  for 
a  spring,  and  no  sooner  had  the  speaker,  with  a  really 
fine  apostrophe  to  independence  and  reason  in  voting, 
sat  down,  than  Bles  was  on  his  feet,  walking  forward.  His 
form  was  commanding,  his  voice  deep  and  musical,  and 
his  earnestness  terribly  evident.  He  hardly  waited  for 


262    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

recognition  from  the  slightly  astonished  president,  but 
fairly  burst  into  speech. 

"  I  am  from  Alabama,"  he  began  earnestly,  "  and  I 
know  the  Democratic  Party."  Then  he  told  of  govern 
ment  and  conditions  in  the  Black  Belt,  of  the  lying,  op 
pression,  and  helplessness  of  the  sodden  black  masses; 
then,  turning,  he  reminded  them  of  the  history  of  slav 
ery.  Finally,  he  pointed  to  Lincoln's  picture  and  to 
Sumner's  and  mentioned  other  white  friends. 

"  And,  my  brothers,  they  are  not  all  dead  yet.  The 
gentleman  spoke  of  Senator  Smith  and  blamed  and  ridi 
culed  him.  I  know  Senator  Smith  but  slightly,  but  I  do 
know  his  sister  well." 

Dropping  to  simple  narrative,  he  told  of  Miss  Smith 
and  of  his  coming  to  school;  and  if  his  audience  felt  the 
great  depth  of  emotion  that  welled  beneath  his  quiet, 
almost  hesitating,  address,  it  was  not  simply  because  of 
what  he  did  say,  but  because,  too,  of  the  unspoken  story 
that  lay  too  deep  for  words.  He  spoke  for  nearly  an 
hour,  and  when  he  stopped,  for  a  moment  his  hearers 
sighed  and  then  sprang  into  a  whirlwind  of  applause. 
They  shouted,  clapped,  and  waved  while  he  sat  in  blank 
amazement,  and  was  with  difficulty  forced  to  the  rostrum 
to  bow  again  and  again.  The  spectacled  white  man  leaned 
over  to  Stillings. 

"Who  is  he?"  he  asked.  Stillings  told  him.  The 
man  noted  the  name  and  went  quietly  out. 

Miss  Wynn  sat  lost  in  thought,  and  Teerswell  beside 
her  fumed.  She  was  not  easily  moved,  but  that  speech 
had  moved  her.  If  he  could  thus  stir  men  and  not  be  him 
self  swayed,  she  mused,  he  would  be  —  invincible.!  But 
to-night  he  was  moved  as  greatly  as  his  hearers  had  been, 
and  that  was  dangerous.  If  his  intense  belief  happened 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  ALWYN 

to  be  popular,  all  right;  but  if  not?  She  frowned.  He 
was  worth  watching,  she  concluded;  quite  worth  watch 
ing,  and  perhaps  worth  guiding. 

When  Alwyn  accompanied  her  home  that  night,  Miss 
Wynn  set  herself  to  know  him  better  for  she  suspected 
that  he  might  be  a  coming  man.  The  best  preliminary 
to  her  purpose  was,  she  knew,  to  speak  frankly  of  her 
self,  and  that  she  did.  She  told  him  of  her  youth  and 
training,  her  ambitions,  her  disappointments.  Quite  un 
consciously  her  cynicism  crept  to  the  fore,  until  in  word 
and  tone  she  had  almost  scoffed  at  many  things  that 
Alwyn  held  true  and  dear.  The  touch  was  too  light,  the 
meaning  too  elusive,  for  Alwyn  to  grasp  always  the  point 
of  attack;  but  somehow  he  got  the  distant  impression 
that  Miss  Wynn  had  little  faith  in  Truth  and  Goodness 
and  Love.  Vaguely  shocked  he  grew  so  silent  that  she 
noticed  it  and  concluded  she  had  said  too  much.  But  he 
pursued  the  subject. 

"  Surely  there  must  be  many  friends  of  our  race  willing 
to  stand  for  the  right  and  sacrifice  for  it?  " 

She  laughed  unpleasantly,  almost  mockingly. 

"Where?" 

"  Well  —  there  's  Miss  Smith." 

"  She  gets  a  salary,  does  n't  she  ?  " 

"  A  very  small  one." 

"  About  as  large  as  she  could  earn  North,  I  don't 
doubt." 

"  But  the  unselfish  work  she  does  —  the  utter  sacri 
fice?  " 

"  Oh,  well,  we  '11  omit  Alabama,  and  admit  the  excep 
tion." 

"  Well,  here,  in  Washington  —  there  's  your  friend,  the 
Judge,  who  has  befriended  you  so,  as  you  admit." 


264    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

She  laughed  again. 

"You  remember  our  visit  to  Senator  Smith?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  it  got  the  Judge  his  reappointment  to  the 
school  board." 

"He  deserved  it,  didn't  he?" 

"I*  deserved  it,"  she  said  luxuriously,  hugging  her 
knee  and  smiling ;  "  you  see,  his  appointment  meant 
mine." 

"Well,  what  of  it  — didn't— " 

"  Listen,"  she  cut  in  a  little  sharply.  "  Once  a  young 
brown  girl,  with  boundless  faith  in  white  folks,  went  to  a 
Judge's  office  to  ask  for  an  appointment  which  she  de 
served.  There  was  no  one  there.  The  benign  old  Judge 
with  his  saintly  face  and  white  hair  suggested  that  she 
lay  aside  her  wraps  and  spend  the  afternoon." 

Bles  arose  to  his  feet. 

"What  —  what  did  you  do?"  he  asked. 

"  Sit  down  —  there  's  a  good  boy."  I  said :  *  Judge, 
a  friend  is  expecting  me  at  two,'  it  was  then  half-past  one, 
*  would  I  not  best  telephone  ?  '  " 

"  '  Step  right  into  the  booth,'  said  the  Judge,  quite 
indulgently."  Miss  Wynn  leaned  back,  and  Bles  felt  his 
heart  sinking ;  but  he  said  nothing.  "  And  then,"  she 
continued,  "  I  telephoned  the  Judge's  wife  that  he  was 
anxious  to  see  her  on  a  matter  of  urgent  business ; 
namely,  my  appointment."  She  gazed  reflectively  out  of 
the  window.  "  You  should  have  seen  his  face  when  I  told 
him,"  she  concluded.  "  I  was  appointed." 

But  Bles  asked  coldly: 

"  Why  did  n't  you  have  him  arrested  ?  " 

"For  what?     And  suppose  I  had?" 

Bles  threw  out  his  arms  helplessly. 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  ALWYN  265 

"  Oh!  it  is  n't  as  bad  as  that  all  over  the  world,  is  it?  " 
"  It 's  worse,"  affirmed  Miss  Wynn,  quietly  positive. 
"And  you  are  still  friendly  with  him?" 
"  What  would  you  have  ?     I  use  the  world ;  I  did  not 
make  it;  I  did  not  choose  it.    He  is  the  world.     Through 
him  I  earn  my  bread  and  butter.     I  have  shown  him  his 
place.     Shall  I  try  in  addition  to  reform?     Shall  I  make 
him    an    enemy?      I   have    neither    time   nor    inclination. 
Shall  I  resign  and  beg,  or  go  tilting  at  windmills?     If 
he  were  the  only  one  it  would  be  different ;  but  they  're 
all    alike."      Her    face    grew    hard.      "  Have    I    shocked 
you?  "  she  said  as  they  went  toward  the  door. 

"  No,"  he  answered  slowly.  "  But  I  still  —  believe  in 
the  world." 

"  You  are  young  yet,  my  friend,"  she  lightly  replied. 
"And  besides,  that  good  Miss  Smith  has  gone  and  grafted 
a  New  England  conscience  on  a  tropical  heart,  and  — 
dear  me !  —  but  it 's  a  gorgeous  misfit.  Good-bye  — 
come  again."  She  bowed  him  graciously  out,  and  paused 
to  take  the  mail  from  the  box.  There  was,  among  many 
others,  a  letter  from  Senator  Smith. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  CAMPAIGN 

MR.  EASTERLY  sat  in  Mrs.  Vanderpool's  apart 
ments  in  the  New  Willard,  Washington,  drinking 
tea.  His  hostess  was  saying  rather  carelessly: 

"  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Vanderpool  has  developed  a  quite 
unaccountable  liking  for  the  idea  of  being  Ambassador 
to  France?  " 

*'  Dear  me !  "  mildly  exclaimed  Mr.  Easterly,  helping 
himself  liberally  to  cakes.  "  I  do  hope  the  thing  can 
be  managed,  but  —  " 

"  What  are  the  difficulties  ?  "  Mrs.  Vanderpool  inter 
rupted. 

"  Well,  first  and  foremost,  the  difficulty  of  electing  our 
man." 

"  I  thought  that  a  foregone  conclusion." 

"  It  was.  But  do  you  know  that  we  Jre  encountering 
opposition  from  the  most  unexpected  source?  " 

The  lady  was  receptive,  and  the  speaker  concluded: 

"  The  Negroes." 

"  The  Negroes !  " 

"Yes.  There  are  five  hundred  thousand  or  more 
black  voters  in  pivotal  Northern  States,  you  know,  and 
they  're  in  revolt.  In  a  close  election  the  Negroes  of  New 
York,  Ohio,  Indiana,  and  Illinois  choose  the  President." 

[266  ] 


THE  CAMPAIGN  367 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"  Well,  business  interests  have  driven  our  party  to 
make  friends  with  the  South.  The  South  has  disfran 
chised  Negroes  and  lynched  a  few.  The  darkies  say  we  've 
deserted  them." 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  laughed. 

"  What  extraordinary  penetration,"  she  cried. 

"  At  any  rate,"  said  Mr.  Easterly,  drily,  "  Mr.  Van- 
derpool's  first  step  toward  Paris  lies  in  getting  the 
Northern  Negroes  to  vote  the  Republican  ticket.  After 
that  the  way  is  clear." 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  mused. 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  know  any  one  who  is  acquainted 
with  any  number  of  these  Northern  darkies  ? "  con 
tinued  Mr.  Easterly. 

"  Not  on  my  calling-list,"  said  Mrs.  Vanderpool,  and 
then  she  added  more  thoughtfully: 

"  There  's  a  young  clerk  in  the  Treasury  Department 
named  Alwyn  who  has  brains.  He  's  just  from  the  South, 
and  I  happened  to  read  of  him  this  morning  —  see  here." 

Mr.  Easterly  read  an  account  of  the  speech  at  the 
Bethel  Literary. 

"  We  '11  look  this  young  man  up,"  he  decided ;  "  he 
may  help.  Of  course,  Mrs.  Vanderpool,  we  '11  probably 
win ;  we  can  buy  these  Negroes  off  with  a  little  money  and 
a  few  small  offices ;  then  if  you  will  use  your  influence 
for  the  party  with  the  Southerners,  I  can  confidently 
predict  from  four  to  eight  years'  sojourn  in  Paris." 

Mrs,  Vanderpool  smiled  and  called  her  maid  as  Mr. 
Easterly  went. 

"  Zora !  "  She  had  to  call  twice,  for  Zora,  with  widened 
eyes,  was  reading  the  Washington  Post. 

Meantime  in  the  office  of  Senator  Smith,  toward  which 


268    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

Mr.  Easterly  was  making  his  way,  several  members  of 
the  National  Republican  campaign  committee  had  been 
closeted  the  day  before. 

"  Now,  about  the  niggers,"  the  chairman  had  asked ; 
"  how  much  more  boodle  do  they  want  ?  " 

"  That 's  what 's  bothering  us,"  announced  a  member ; 
"  it  is  n't  the  boodle  crowd  that 's  hollering,  but  a  new  set, 
and  I  don't  understand  them;  I  don't  know  what  they 
represent,  nor  just  how  influential  they  are." 

"What  can  I  do  to  help  you?"  asked  Senator  Smith. 

"  This.  You  are  here  at  Washington  with  these  Ne 
gro  office-holders  at  your  back.  Find  out  for  us  just  what 
this  revolt  is,  how  far  it  goes,  and  what  good  men  we 
can  get  to  swing  the  darkies  into  line  —  see?" 

"  Very  good,"  the  Senator  acquiesced.  He  called  in  a 
spectacled  man  with  bushy  eyebrows  and  a  sleepy  look. 

"  I  want  you  to  work  the  Negro  political  situation," 
directed  the  Senator,  "  and  bring  me  all  the  data  you 
can  get.  Personally,  I  'm  at  sea.  I  don't  understand 
the  Negro  of  to-day  at  all ;  he  puzzles  me ;  he  does  n't 
fit  any  of  my  categories,  and  I  suspect  that  I  don't  fit 
his.  See  what  you  can  find  out." 

The  man  went  out,  and  the  Senator  turned  to  his 
desk,  then  paused  and  smiled.  One  day,  not  long  since, 
he  had  met  a  colored  person  who  personified  his  perplex 
ity  concerning  Negroes ;  she  was  a  lady,  yet  she  was 
black  —  that  is,  brown ;  she  was  educated,  even  cultured, 
yet  she  taught  Negroes ;  she  was  quiet,  astute,  quick 
and  diplomatic  —  everything,  in  fact,  that  "  Negroes  " 
were  not  supposed  to  be;  and  yet  she  was  a  "Negro." 
She  had  given  him  valuable  information  which  he  had 
sought  in  vain  elsewhere,  and  the  event  proved  it  correct. 
Suppose  he  asked  Caroline  Wynn  to  help  him  in  this 


THE  CAMPAIGN  269 

case?  It  would  certainly  do  no  harm  and  it  might  elect 
a  Republican  president.  He  wrote  a  short  letter  with 
his  own  hand  and  sent  it  to  post. 

Miss  Wynn  read  the  letter  after  Alwyn's  departure 
with  a  distinct  thrill  which  was  something  of  a  luxury 
for  her.  Evidently  she  was  coming  to  her  kingdom.  The 
Republican  boss  was  turning  to  her  for  confidential  in 
formation. 

"  What  do  the  colored  people  want,  and  who  can  best 
influence  them  in  this  campaign  ?  " 

She  curled  up  on  the  ottoman  and  considered.  The 
first  part  of  the  query  did  not  bother  her. 

"  Whatever  they  want  they  won't  get,"  she  said  de 
cisively. 

But  as  to  the  man  or  men  who  could  influence  them 
to  believe  that  they  were  getting,  or  about  to  get,  what 
they  wanted  —  there  was  a  question.  One  by  one  she 
considered  the  men  she  knew,  and,  by  a  process  of  elimi 
nation,  finally  arrived  at  Bles  Alwyn. 

Why  riot  take  this  young  man  in  hand  and  make  a 
Negro  leader  of  him  —  a  protagonist  of  ten  millions  ?  It 
would  not  be  unpleasant.  But  could  she  do  it?  Would 
he  be  amenable  to  her  training  and  become  worldly  wise? 
She  flattered  herself  that  he  would,  and  yet  —  there  was 
a  certain  steadfast  look  in  the  depths  of  his  eyes  that 
might  prove  to  be  sheer  stubbornness.  At  any  rate,  who 
was  better?  There  was  a  fellow,  Stillings,  whom  Alwyn 
had  introduced  and  whom  she  had  heard  of.  Now  he  was 
a  politician  —  but  nothing  else.  She  dismissed  him.  Of 
course,  there  was  the  older  set  of  office-holders  and  round 
ers.  But  she  was  determined  to  pick  a  new  man.  He 
was  worth  trying,  at  any  rate;  she  knew  none  other  with 
the  same  build,  the  brains,  the  gifts,  the  adorable  youth. 


270   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

Very  goo'd.  She  wrote  two  letters,  and  then  curled  up 
to  her  novel  and  candy. 

Next  day  Senator  Smith  held  Miss  Wynn's  letter  un 
opened  in  his  hand  when  Mr.  Easterly  entered.  They 
talked  of  the  campaign  and  various  matters,  until  at 
last  Easterly  said: 

"  Say,  there  's  a  Negro  clerk  in  the  Treasury  named 
Alwyn." 

"  I  know  him  —  I  had  him  appointed." 

"  Good.     He  may  help  us.     Have  you  seen  this?  " 

The   Senator   read   the   clipping. 

"  I  had  n't  noticed  it  —  but  here  's   my   agent." 

The  spectacled  man  entered  with  a  mass  of  documents. 
He  had  papers,  posters,  programmes,  and  letters. 

"  The  situation  is  this,"  he  said.  "  A  small  group  of 
educated  Negroes  are  trying  to  induce  the  rest  to  punish 
the  Republican  Party  for  not  protecting  them.  These 
men  are  not  politicians,  nor  popular  leaders,  but  they 
have  influence  and  are  using  it.  The  old-style  Negro 
politicians  are  no  match  for  them,  and  the  crowd  of  office 
holders  are  rather  bewildered.  Strong  measures  are 
needed.  Educated  men  of  earnestness  and  ability  might 
stem  the  tide.  And  I  believe  I  know  one  such  man.  He 
spoke  at  a  big  meeting  last  night  at  the  Metropolitan 
church.  His  name  is  Alwyn." 

Senator  Smith  listened  as  he  opened  the  letter  from 
Caroline  Wynn.  Then  he  started. 

"  Well!  "  he  ejaculated,  looking  quickly  up  at  Easterly. 
"  This  is  positively  uncanny.  From  three  separate  sources 
the  name  of  Alwyn  pops  up.  Looks  like  a  mascot.  Call 
up  the  Treasury.  Let 's  have  him  up  when  the  sub-com 
mittee  meets  to-morrow." 


THE  CAMPAIGN  271 

Bles  Alwyn  hurried  up  to  Senator  Smith's  office,  hop 
ing  to  hear  something  about  the  school;  perhaps  even 
about  —  but  he  stopped  with  a  sigh,  and  sat  down  in 
the  ante-room.  He  was  kept  waiting  a  few  moments  while 
Senator  Smith,  the  chairman,  and  one  other  member  of  the 
sub-committee  had  a  word. 

"  Now,  I  don't  know  the  young  man,  mind  you,"  said 
the  Senator ;  "  but  he  's  strongly  recommended." 

"What  shall  we  offer  him?"  asked  the  chairman. 

"  Try  him  at  twenty-five  dollars  a  speech.  If  he  balks, 
raise  to  fifty  dollars,  but  not  more." 

They  summoned  the  young  man.  The  chairman  pro 
duced  cigars. 

"  I  don't  smoke,"  said  Bles  apologetically. 

"  Well,  we  have  n't  anything  to  drink,"  said  the  chair 
man.  But  Senator  Smith  broke  in,  taking  up  at  once  the 
paramount  interest. 

"  Mr.  Alwyn,  as  you  know,  the  Democrats  are  making 
an  effort  to  get  the  Negro  vote  in  this  campaign.  Now,  I 
know  the  disadvantages  and  wrongs  which  black  men  in 
this  land  are  suffering.  I  believe  the  Republicans  ought 
to  do  more  to  defend  them,  and  I  'm  satisfied  they  will ; 
but  I  doubt  if  the  way  to  get  Negro  rights  is  to  vote  for 
those  who  took  them  away." 

"  I  agree  with  you  perfectly,"  said  Bles. 

"  I  understand  you  do,  and  that  you  made  an  unusually 
fine  speech  on  the  subject  the  other  night" 

"  Thank  you,  sir."  This  was  a  good  deal  more  than 
Bles  had  expected,  and  he  was  embarrassed. 

"  Well,  now,  we  think  you  're  just  the  man  to  take 
the  stump  during  September  and  October  and  convince 
the  colored  people  of  their  real  interests." 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  I  doubt  if  I  could,  sir ;  I  'm  not  a  speaker.  In  fact, 
that  was  my  first  public  speech." 

"  So  much  the  better.     Are  you  willing  to  try?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  sir ;  but  I  could  hardly  afford  to  give  up 
my  position." 

"  We  '11  arrange  for  a  leave  of  absence." 

"Then  I'll  try,  sir." 

"  What  would  you  expect  as  pay  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  my  salary  would  stop?  " 

"  I  mean  in  addition  to  that." 

"  Oh,  nothing,  sir ;  I  'd  be  glad  to  do  the  work." 

The  chairman  nearly  choked;  sitting  back,  he  eyed 
the  young  man.  Either  they  were  dealing  with  a  fool,  or 
else  a  very  astute  politician.  If  the  former,  how  far 
could  they  trust  him;  if  the  latter,  what  was  his  game? 

"  Of  course,  there  '11  be  considerable  travelling,"  the 
chairman  ventured,  looking  reflectively  out  of  the  window. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  suppose  so." 

"  We  might  pay  the  railroad  fare." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.     When  shall  I  begin?  " 

The  chairman  consulted  his  calendar. 

"  Suppose  you  hold  yourself  in  readiness  for  one  week 
from  to-day." 

"  All  right,"  and  Bles  rose.     "  Good-day,  gentlemen." 

But  the  chairman  was  still  puzzled. 

"  Now,  what 's  his  game  ?  "  he  asked  helplessly. 

"  He  may  be  honest,"  offered  Senator  Smith,  con 
templating  the  door  almost  wistfully. 

The  campaign  progressed.  The  National  Republican 
Committee  said  little  about  the  Negro  revolt  and  affected 
to  ignore  it.  The  papers  were  silent.  Underneath  this 
calm,  however,  the  activity  was  redoubled.  The  promi 
nent  Negroes  were  carefully  catalogued,  written  to,  and 


THE  CAMPAIGN  273 

put  under  personal  influence.  The  Negro  papers  were 
quietly  subsidized,  and  they  began  to  ridicule  and  reproach 
the  new  leaders. 

As  the  Fall  progressed,  mass-meetings  were  held  in 
Washington  and  the  small  towns.  Larger  and  larger  ones 
were  projected,  and  more  and  more  Alwyn  was  pushed  to 
the  front.  {  He  was  developing  into  a  most  effective 
speaker.  He  had  the  voice,  the  presence,  the  ideas,  and 
above  all  he  was  intensely  in  earnest.  There  were  other 
colored  orators  with  voice,  presence,  and  eloquence;  but 
their  people  knew  their  record  and  discounted  them.  Alwyn 
was  new,  clear,  and  sincere,  and  the  black  folk  hung  on  his 
words.  Large  and  larger  crowds  greeted  him  until  he  was 
the  central  figure  in  a  half  dozen  great  negro  mass-meet 
ings  in  the  chief  cities  of  the  country,  culminating  in  New 
York  the  night  before  election.  Perhaps  the  secret  news 
paper  work,  the  personal  advice  of  employers  and  friends, 
and  the  liberal  distribution  of  cash,  would  have  delivered 
a  large  part  of  the  Negro  vote  to  the  Republican  candi 
date.  Perhaps  —  but  there  was  a  doubt.  With  the  work 
of  Alwyn,  however,  all  doubt  disappeared,  and  there  was 
little  reason  for  denying  that  the  new  President  walked 
into  the  White  House  through  the  instrumentality  of  an 
unknown  Georgia  Negro,  little  past  his  nfajority.  This 
is  what  Senator  Smith  said  to  Mr.  Easterly;  what  Miss 
Wynn  said  to  herself;  and  it  was  what  Mrs.  Vander- 
pool  remarked  to  Zora  as  Zora  was  combing  her  hair  on 
the  Wednesday  after  election. 

Zora  murmured  an  indistinct  response.  As  already 
something  of  the  beauty  of  the  world  had  found  question 
and  answer  in  her  soul,  and  as  she  began  to  realize  how 
the  world  had  waxed  old  in  thought  and  stature,  so  now 
in  their  last  days  a  sense  of  the  power  of  men,  as  set  over 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

against  the  immensity  and  force  of  their  surroundings, 
became  real  to  her.  She  had  begun  to  read  of  the  lives 
and  doing  of  those  called  great,  and  in  her  mind  a  plan 
was  forming.  She  saw  herself  standing  dim  within  the 
shadows,  directing  the  growing  power  of  a  man:  a  man 
who  would  be  great  as  the  world  counted  greatness,  rich, 
high  in  position,  powerful  —  wonderful  because  his  face 
was  black.  He  would  never  see  her;  never  know  how 
she  worked  and  planned,  save  perhaps  at  last,  in  that 
supreme  moment  as  she  passed,  her  soul  would  cry  to 
his,  "  Redeemed !  "  And  he  would  understand. 

All  this  she  was  thinking  and  weaving;  not  clearly 
and  definitely,  but  in  great  blurred  clouds  of  thoughts 
of  things  as  she  said  slowly: 

"  He  should  have  a  great  position  for  this." 

"  Why,  certainly,"  Mrs.  Vanderpool  agreed,  and  then 
curiously:  "What?" 

Zora  considered.  "  Negroes,"  she  said,  "  have  been  Reg 
isters  of  the  Treasury,  and  Recorders  of  Deeds  here  in 
Washington,  and  Douglas  was  Marshal;  but  I  want 
Bles  —  "  she  paused  and  started  again.  "  Those  are  not 
great  enough  for  Mr.  Alwyn;  he  should  have  an  office 
so  important  that  Negroes  would  not  think  of  leaving 
their  party  again." 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  took  pains  to  repeat  Zora's  words 
to  Mr.  Easterly.  He  considered  the  matter. 

"  In  one  sense,  it 's  good  advice,"  he  admitted ;  "  but 
there  's  the  South  to  reckon  with.  I  '11  think  it  over  and 
speak  to  the  President.  Oh,  yes ;  I  'm  going  to  mention 
France  at  the  same  time." 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  smiled  and  leaned  back  in  her  car 
riage.  She  noted  with  considerable  interest  the  young 
colored  woman  who  was  watching  her  from  the  sidewalk: 


THE  CAMPAIGN  275 

a  brown,  well-appearing  young  woman  of  notable  self- 
possession.  Caroline  Wynn  scrutinized  Mrs.  Vanderpool 
because  she  had  been  speaking  with  Mr.  Easterly,  and 
Mr.  Easterly  was  a  figure  of  political  importance.  That 
very  morning  Miss  Wynn  had  telegraphed  Bles  Alwyn. 
Alwyn  arrived  at  Washington  just  as  the  morning 
papers  heralded  the  sweeping  Republican  victory.  All 
about  he  met  new  deference  and  new  friends ;  strangers 
greeted  him  familiarly  on  the  street;  Sam  Stillings  be 
came  his  shadow;  and  when  he  reported  for  work  his 
chief  and  fellow  clerks  took  unusual  interest  in  him. 

"  Have  you  seen  Senator  Smith  yet  ? "  Miss  Wynn 
asked  after  a  few  words  of  congratulation. 

"No.     What  for?" 

"What  for?"  she  answered.  "Go  to  him  to-day; 
don't  fail.  I  shall  be  at  home  at  eight  to-night." 

It  seemed  to  Bles  an  exceedingly  silly  thing  to  do  — 
calling  on  a  busy  man  with  no  errand;  but  he  went.  He 
decided  that  he  would  just  thank  the  Senator  for  his  in 
terest,  and  get  out;  or,  if  the  Senator  was  busy,  he 
would  merely  send  in  his  card.  Evidently  the  Senator 
was  busy,  for  his  waiting-room  was  full.  Bles  handed 
the  card  to  the  secretary  with  a  word  of  apology,  but 
the  secretary  detained  him. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Alwyn,"  he  said  affably ;  "  glad  to  see 
you.  The  Senator  will  want  to  see  you,  I  know.  Wait 
just  a  minute."  And  soon  Bles  was  shaking  Senator 
Smith's  hand. 

"Well,  Mr.  Alwyn,"  said  the  Senator  heartily,  "you 
delivered  the  goods." 

"Thank  you,  sir.     I  tried  to." 

Senator  Smith  thoughtfully  looked  him  over  and  drew 
out  the  letters. 


276   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  Your  friends,  Mr.  Alwyn,"  he  said,  adjusting  his 
glasses,  "  have  a  rather  high  opinion  of  you.  Here  now 
is  Stillings,  who  helped  on  the  campaign.  He  suggests  an 
eighteen-hundred-dollar  clerkship  for  you."  The  Senator 
glanced  up  keenly  and  omitted  to  state  what  Stillings 
suggested  for  himself.  Alwyn  was  visibly  grateful  as 
well  as  surprised. 

"I  —  I  hoped,"  he  began  hesitatingly,  "  that  perhaps 
I  might  get  a  promotion,  but  I  had  not  thought  of  a 
first-class  clerkship." 

"  H'm."  Senator  Smith  leaned  back  and  twiddled  his 
thumbs,  staring  at  Alwyn  until  the  hot  blood  darkened 
his  cheeks.  Then  Bles  sat  up  and  stared  politely  but 
steadily  back.  The  Senator's  eyes  dropped  and  he  put 
out  his  hand  for  the  second  note. 

"  Now,  your  friend,  Miss  Wynn  "  -  —  Alwyn  started  — 
"  is  even  more  ambitious."     He  handed  her  letter  to  the 
young  man,  and  pointed  out  the  words. 

"  Of  course,  Senator,"  Bles  read,  "  we  expect  Mr, 
Alwyn  to  be  the  next  Register  of  the  Treasury." 

Bles  looked  up  in  amazement,  but  the  Senator  reached 
for  a  third  letter.  The  room  was  very  still.  At  last  he 
found  it.  "  This,"  he  announced  quietly,  "  is  from  a 
man  of  great  power  and  influence,  who  has  the  ear  of  the 
new  President."  He  smoothed  out  the  letter,  paused 
briefly,  then  read  aloud: 

"  *  It  has  been  suggested  to  me  by  '  "  —  the  Senator  did 
not  read  the  name ;  if  he  had  "  Mrs.  Vanderpool "  would 
have  meant  little  to  Alwyn  — " '  It  has  been  suggested 
to  me  by  blank  that  the  future  allegiance  of  the  Negro 
vote  to  the  Republican  Party  might  be  insured  by  giving 
to  some  prominent  Negro  a  high  political  position  —  for 
instance,  Treasurer  of  the  United  States'  —  salary,  six 


THE  CAMPAIGN'  277 

thousand  dollars,"  interpolated  Senator  Smith  —  "  '  and 
that  Alwyn  would  be  a  popular  and  safe  appointment  for 
that  position.'  " 

The  Senator  did  not  read  the  concluding  sentence, 
which  ran :  "  Think  this  over ;  we  can't  touch  political 
conditions  in  the  South;  perhaps  this  sop  will  do." 

For  a  long  time  Alwyn  sat  motionless,  while  the  Senator 
said  nothing.  Then  the  young  man  rose  unsteadily. 

"  I  don't  think  I  quite  grasp  all  this,"  he  said  as  he 
shook  hands.  "  I  '11  think  it  over,"  and  he  went  out. 

When  Caroline  Wynn  heard  of  that  extraordinary  con 
versation  her  amazement  knew  no  bounds.  Yet  Alwyn 
ventured  to  voice  doubts : 

•s^Jr? 

"  I  'm  not  fitted  for  either  of  those  high  offices ;  there 
are  many  others  who  deserve  more,  and  I  don't  some 
how  like  the  idea  of  seeming  to  have  worked  hard  in  the 
campaign  simply  for  money  or  fortune.  You  see,  I  talked 
against  that  very  thing." 

Miss  Wynn's  eyes  widened. 

"  Well,  what  else  — "  she  began  and  then  changed. 
"  Mr.  Alwyn,  the  line  between  virtue  and  foolishness  is 
dim  and  wavering,  and  I  should  hate  to  see  you  lost  in 
that  marshy  borderland.  By  a  streak  of  extraordinary 
luck  you  have  gained  the  political  leadership  of  Negroes 
in  America.  Here  's  your  chance  to  lead  your  people, 
and  here  you  stand  blinking  and  hesitating.  Be  a  man !  " 

Alwyn  straightened  up  and  felt  his  doubts  going.  The 
evening  passed  very  pleasantly. 

"  I  'm  going  to  have  a  little  dinner  for  you,"  said  Miss 
Wynn  finally,  and  Alwyn  grew  hot  with  pleasure.  He 
turned  to  her  suddenly  and  said: 

"  Why,  I  'm  rather  —  black."  She  expressed  no  sur 
prise  but  said  reflectively: 


278   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"You  are  dark." 

"  And  I  've  been  given  to  understand  that  Miss  Wynn 
and  her  set  rather  —  well,  preferred  the  lighter  shades 
of  colored  folk." 

Miss  Wynn  laughed  lightly. 

"  My  parents  did,"  she  said  simply.  "  No  dark  man 
ever  entered  their  house ;  they  were  simply  copying  the 
white  world.  Now  I,  as  a  matter  of  aesthetic  beauty, 
prefer  your  brown-velvet  color  to  a  jaundiced  yellow, 
or  even  an  uncertain  cream ;  but  the  world  does  n't." 

"The  world?" 

"  Yes,  the  world ;  and  especially  America.  One  may 
be  Chinese,  Spaniard,  even  Indian  —  anything  white  or 
dirty  white  in  this  land,  and  demand  decent  treatment; 
but  to  be  Negro  or  darkening  toward  it  unmistakably 
means  perpetual  handicap  and  crucifixion." 

"  Why  not,  then,  admit  that  you  draw  the  color-line?  " 

"  Because  I  don't;  but  the  world  does.  I  am  not  preju 
diced  as  my  parents  were,  but  I  am  foresighted.  Indeed, 
it  is  a  deep  ethical  query,  is  it  not,  how  far  one  has  the 
right  to  bear  black  children  to  the  world  in  the  Land  of 
the  Free  and  the  home  of  the  brave.  Is  it  fair  - —  to  the 
children?" 

"  Yes,  it  is !  "  he  cried  vehemently.  "  The  more  to 
take  up  the  fight,  the  surer  the  victory." 

She  laughed  at  his  earnestness. 

"  You  are  refreshing,"  she  said.  "  Well,  we  '11  dine 
next  Tuesday,  and  we  '11  have  the  cream  of  our  world 
to  meet  you." 

He  knew  that  this  was  a  great  triumph.  It  flattered 
his  vanity.  After  all,  he  was  entering  this  higher  dark 
world  whose  existence  had  piqued  and  puzzled  him  so  long. 
He  glanced  at  Miss  Wynn  beside  him  there  in  the  dimly 


THE  CAMPAIGN  279 

lighted  parlor:  she  looked  so  aloof  and  unapproachable, 
so  handsome  and  so  elegant.  He  thought  how  she  would 
complete  a  house  —  such  a  home  as  his  prospective  four  or 
six  thousand  dollars  a  year  could  easily  purchase.  She 
saw  him  surveying  her,  and  she  smiled  at  him. 

"  I  find  but  one  fault  with  you,"  she  said. 

He  stammered  for  a  pretty  speech,  but  did  not  find  it 
before  she  continued: 

"  Yes  —  you  are  so  delightfully  primitive ;  you  will 
not  use  the  world  as  it  is  but  insist  on  acting  as  if  it 
were  something  else." 

"  I  am  not  sure  I  understand." 

"  Well,  there  is  the  wife  of  my  Judge :  she  is  a  fact  in 
my  world;  in  yours  she  is  a  problem  to  be  stated, 
j  straightened,  and  solved.  If  she  had  come  to  you,  as  she 
did  to  me  yesterday,  with  her  theory  that  all  that  South 
ern  Negroes  needed  was  to  learn  how  to  make  good  serv 
ants  and  lay  brick  —  " 

"I  should  have  shown  her  —  "  Bles  tried  to  interject.  - 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort.  You  would  have  tried  to  show 
her  and  would  have  failed  miserably.  She  has  n't  learned 
anything  in  twenty  years." 

"But  surely  you  didn't  join  her  in  advocating  that 
ten  million  people  be  menials?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  simply  listened." 

"  Well,  there  was  no  harm  in  that ;  I  believe  in  silence 
at  times." 

"  Ah !  but  I  did  not  listen  like  a  log,  but  positively  and 
eloquently;  with  a  nod,  a  half-formed  word,  a  comment 
begun,  which  she  finished." 

Bles  frowned. 

"  As  a  result,"  continued  Miss  Wynn,  "  I  have  a  check 
for  five  hundred  dollars  to  finish  our  cooking-school  and 


280    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

buy  a  cast  of  Minerva  for  the  assembly-room.  More  than 
that,  I  have  now  a  wealthy  friend.  She  thinks  me  an  un 
usually  clever  person  who,  by  a  process  of  thought  not  un 
like  her  own,  has  arrived  at  very  similar  conclusions." 

"  But  —  but,"  objected  Bles,  "  if  the  time  spent  cajol 
ing  fools  were  used  in  convincing  the  honest  and  upright, 
think  how  much  we  would  gain." 

"  Very  little.  The  honest  and  upright  are  a  sad  minor 
ity.  Most  of  these  white  folk  —  believe  me,  boy,"  she 
said  caressingly, — "  are  fools  and  knaves :  they  don't 
want  truth  or  progress ;  they  want  to  keep  niggers  down." 

"  I  don't  believe  it ;  there  are  scores,  thousands,  per 
haps  millions  such,  I  admit;  but  the  average  American 
loves  justice  and  right,  and  he  is  the  one  to  whom  I 
appeal  with  frankness  and  truth.  Great  heavens!  don't 
you  love  to  be  frank  and  open  ?  " 

She  narrowed  her  eyelids. 

"  Yes,  sometimes  I  do ;  once  I  was ;  but  it 's  a  luxury 
few  of  us  Negroes  can  afford.  Then,  too,  I  insist  that 
it's  jolly  to  fool  them." 

"  Don't  you  hate  the  deception?  " 

She  chuckled  and  put  her  head  to  one  side. 

"  At  first  I  did ;  but,  do  you  know,  now  I  believe  I 
prefer  it." 

He  looked  so  horrified  that  she  burst  out  laughing.  He 
laughed  too.  She  was  a  puzzle  to  him.  He  kept  think 
ing  what  a  mistress  of  a  mansion  she  would  make. 

"  Why  do  you  say  these  things  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

"  Because  I  want  you  to  do  well  here  in  Washington." 

"  General  philanthropy  ?  " 

"  No,  special."     Her  eyes  were  bright  with  meaning. 

"  Then  you  care —  for  me?  " 

"  Yes." 


THE  CAMPAIGN  281 

i 

He  bent  forward  and  cast  the  die. 

"  Enough  to  marry  me?  " 

She  answered  very  calmly  and  certainly: 

"  Yes." 

He  leaned  toward  her.  And  then  between  him  and 
her  lips  rose  a  dark  and  shadowy  face;  two  great  storm- 
swept  eyes  looked  into  his  out  of  a  world  of  infinite  pain, 
and  he  dropped  his  head  in  hesitation  and  shame,  and 
kissed  her  hand.  Miss  Wynn  thought  him  delightfully 
bashful. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

CONGRESSMAN  CRESSWELL 

THE  election  of  Harry  Cresswell  to  Congress  was 
a  very  simple  matter.  The  Colonel  and  his  son 
drove  to  town  and  consulted  the  Judge;  together 
they  summoned  the  sheriff  and  the  local  member  of  the 
State  legislature. 

"  I  think  it 's  about  time  that  we  Cresswells  asked  for 
a  little  of  the  political  pie,"  the  Colonel  smilingly  opened. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  ?  "  asked  the  Judge. 

"  Harry  wants  to  go  to  Congress." 

The  Judge  hesitated.  "  We  'd  half  promised  that  to 
Caldwell,"  he  objected. 

"  It  will  be  a  little  costly  this  year,  too,"  suggested 
the  sheriff,  tentatively. 

"  About  how  much  ?  "  asked  the  Colonel. 

u  At  least  five  thousand,"  said  the  Legislator. 

The  Colonel  said  nothing.  He  simply  wrote  a  check 
and  the  matter  was  settled.  In  the  Fall  Harry  Cresswell 
was  declared  elected.  There  were  four  hundred  and  sev 
enty-two  votes  cast  but  the  sheriff  added  a  cipher.  He 
said  it  would  look  better. 

Early  December  found  the  Cresswells  domiciled  in  a 
small  house  in  Du  Pont  Circle,  Washington.  They  had 
an  automobile  and  four  servants,  and  the  house  was  fur- 


CONGRESSMAN  CRESSWELL  283 

nished  luxuriously.  Mary  Taylor  Cresswell,  standing  in 
her  morning  room  and  looking  out  on  the  flowers  of  the 
square,  told  herself  that  few  people  in  the  world  had  cause 
to  be  as  happy  as  she.  She  was  tastefully  gowned,  in  a 
way  to  set  off  her  blonde  beauty  and  her  delicate  rounded 
figure.  She  was  surrounded  with  wealth,  and  above  all, 
she  was  in  that  atmosphere  of  aristocracy  for  which  she 
had  always  yearned ;  and  already  she  was  acquiring  that 
poise  of  the  head,  and  a  manner  of  directing  the  servants, 
which  showed  her  born  to  the  purple. 

She  had  cause  to  be  extremely  happy,  she  told  herself 
this  morning,  and  yet  she  was  puzzled  to  understand  why 
she  was  not.  Why  was  she  restless  and  vaguely  ill  at 
ease  so  often  these  days? 

One  matter,  indeed,  did  worry  her;  but  that  would 
right  itself  in  time,  she  was  sure.  She  had  always  pic 
tured  herself  as  directing  her  husband's  work.  She  did 
not  plan  to  step  in  and  demand  a  share;  she  knew  from 
experience  with  her  brother  that  a  woman  must  prove  her 
usefulness  to  a  man  before  he  will  admit  it,  and  even  then 
he  may  be  silent.  She  intended  gradually  and  tactfully 
to  relieve  her  husband  of  care  connected  with  his  public 
life  so  that,  before  he  realized  it,  she  would  be  his  guiding 
spirit  and  his  inspiration.  She  had  dreamed  the  details 
of  doing  this  so  long  that  it  seemed  already  done,  and  she 
could  imagine  no  obstacle  to  its  realization.  And  yet 
she  found  herself  to-day  no  nearer  her  goal  than  when 
first  she  married.  Not  because  Mr.  Cresswell  did  not 
share  his  work,  but  because,  apparently,  he  had  no  work, 
no  duties,  no  cares.  At  first,  in  the  dim  glories  of  the 
honeymoon,  this  seemed  but  part  of  his  delicate  courtesy 
toward  her,  and  it  pleased  her  despite  her  thrifty  New 
England  nature ;  but  now  that  they  were  settled  in  Wash- 


284    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

ington,  the  election  over  and  Congress  in  session,  it  really 
seemed  time  for  Work  and  Life  to  begin  in  dead  earnest, 
and  New  England  Mary  was  dreaming  mighty  dreams 
and  golden  futures. 

But  Harry  apparently  was  as  content  as  ever  with  do 
ing  nothing.  He  arose  at  ten,  dined  at  seven,  and  went  to 
bed  between  midnight  and  sunrise.  There  were  some  com 
mittee  meetings  and  much  mail,  but  Mary  was  admitted 
to  knowledge  of  none  of  these.  The  obvious  step,  of 
course,  would  be  to  set  him  at  work ;  but  from  this  under 
taking  Mary  unconsciously  recoiled.  She  had  already 
recognized  that  while  her  tastes  and  her  husband's  were 
mostly  alike,  they  were  also  strikingly  different  in  many 
respects.  They  agreed  in  the  daintiness  of  things,  the 
elegance  of  detail;  but  they  did  not  agree  always  as  to 
the  things  themselves.  Given  the  picture,  they  would 
choose  the  same  frame  —  but  they  would  not  choose  the 
same  picture.  They  liked  the  same  voice,  but  not  the 
same  song;  the  same  company,  but  not  the  same  conver 
sation.  Of  course,  Mary  reflected,  frowning  at  the 
flowers  —  of  course,  this  must  always  be  so  when  two 
human  beings  are  thrown  into  new  and  intimate  associa 
tion.  In  time  they  would  grow  to  sweet  communion ;  only, 
she  hoped  the  communion  would  be  on  tastes  nearer  hers 
than  those  he  sometimes  manifested. 

She  turned  impatiently  from  the  window  with  a  feeling 
of  loneliness.  But  why  lonely?  She  idly  fingered  a  new 
book  on  the  table  and  then  put  it  down  sharply.  There 
had  been  several  attempts  at  reading  aloud  between  them 
some  evenings  ago,  and  this  book  reminded  her  of  them. 
She  had  bought  Jane  Addams'  "  Newer  Ideals  of  Peace," 
and  he  had  yawned  over  it  undisguisedly.  Then  he  had 
brought  this  novel,  and  —  well,  she  had  balked  at  the 


CONGRESSMAN  CRESSWELL  285 

second  chapter,  and  he  had  kissed  her  and  called  her  his 
"  little  prude."  She  did  not  want  to  be  a  prude ;  she 
hated  to  seem  so,  and  had  for  some  time  prided  herself 
on  emancipation  from  narrow  New  England  prejudices. 
For  example,  she  had  not  objected  to  wine  at  dinner;  it 
had  seemed  indeed  rather  fine,  imparting,  as  it  did,  an  old- 
fashioned  flavor;  but  she  did  not  like  the  whiskey,  and 
Harry  at  times  appeared  to  become  just  a  bit  too  lively 

—  nothing  excessive,  of  course,  but  his  eyes  and  the  smell 
and  the  color  were  a  little  too  suggestive.     And  yet  he 
was  so  kind  and  good,  and  when  he  came  in  at  evening  he 
bent  so  gallantly  for  his  kiss,  and  laid  fresh  flowers  be 
fore  her:  could  anything  have  been  more  thoughtful  and 
knightly  ? 

Just  here  again  she  was  puzzled;  with  her  folk,  hard 
work  and  inflexible  duty  were  of  prime  importance;  they 
were  the  rock  foundation;  and  she  somehow  had  always 
counted  on  the  courtesies  of  life  as  added  to  them,  mak 
ing  them  sweet  and  beautiful.  But  in  this  world,  not  per 
haps  so  much  with  Harry  as  with  others  of  his  set,  the 
depths  beneath  the  gravely  inclined  head,  the  deferential 
smile  and  ceremonious  action,  the  light  clever  converse, 
had  sounded  strangely  hollow  once  or  twice  when  she  had 
essayed  to  sound  them,  and  a  certain  fear  to  look  and  see 
possessed  her. 

The  bell  rang,  and  she  was  a  little  startled  at  the  fright 
that  struck  her  heart.  She  did  not  analyze  it.  In  reality 

—  pride  forbade  her  to  admit  it  —  she  feared  it  was  a 
call  of  some  of  Harry's   friends:  some  languid,  assured 
Southern  ladies,  perilously  gowned,   with  veiled  disdain 
for   this   interloping   Northerner   and  her   strong   mind. 
Especially  was   there   one  from   New   Orleans,    tall   and 
dark  — 


286    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

But  it  was  no  caller.  It  was  simply  some  one  named 
Stillings  to  see  Mr.  Cresswell.  She  went  down  to  see 
him  —  he  might  be  a  constituent  —  and  found  a  smirky 
brown  man,  very  apologetic. 

"You  don't  know  me  —  does  you,  Mrs.  Cresswell?  " 
said  Stillings.  He  knew  when  it  was  diplomatic  to  forget 
his  grammar  and  assume  his  dialect. 

"  Why  —  no." 

"  You  remember  I  worked  for  Mr.  Harry  and  served 
you-all  lunch  one  day.  " 

"  Oh,  yes  —  why,  yes !     I  remember  now  very  well." 

"  Well,  I  wants  to  see  Mr.  Harry  very  much ;  could  I 
wait  in  the  back  hall?  " 

Mary  started  to  have  him  wait  in  the  front  hall,  but 
she  thought  better  of  it  and  had  him  shown  back.  Less 
than  an  hour  later  her  husband  entered  and  she  went 
quickly  to  him.  He  looked  worn  and  white  and  tired,  but 
he  laughed  her  concern  lightly  off. 

"  I  '11  be  in  earlier  to-night,"  he  declared. 

"Is  the  Congressional  business  very  heavy?" 

He  laughed  so  hilariously  that  she  felt  uncomfortable, 
which  he  observed. 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  answered  deftly ;  "  not  very."  And  as 
they  moved  toward  the  dining-room  Mary  changed  the 
subject. 

"  Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  suddenly  remembering.  "  There 
is  a  man  —  a  colored  man  —  waiting  to  see  you  in  the 
back  hall,  but  I  guess  he  can  wait  until  after  lunch. 

They  ate  leisurely. 

;*  There  *s  going  to  be  racing  out  at  the  park  this 
evening,"  said  Harry.  "  Want  to  go?  " 

"  I  was  going  to  hear  an  art  lecture  at  the  Club,"  Mary 
returned,  and  grew  thoughtful ;  for  here  walked  her  ghost 


CONGRESSMAN  CRESSWELL  287 

again.  Of  course,  the  Club  was  an  affair  with  more  of 
gossip  than  of  intellectual  effort,  but  to-day,  largely 
through  her  own  suggestion,  an  art  teacher  of  European 
reputation  was  going  to  lecture,  and  Mary  preferred  it 
to  the  company  of  the  race  track.  And  —  just  as  cer 
tainly  —  her  husband  did  n't. 

"  Don't  forget  the  man,  dear,"  she  reminded  him ;  but 
he  was  buried  in  his  paper,  frowning. 

"  Look  at  that,"  he  said  finally.  She  glanced  at  the 
head-lines  —  "  Prominent  Negro  Politician  Candidate  for 
High  Office  at  Hands  of  New  Administration.  B.  Alwyn 
of  Alabama." 

"  Why,  it 's  Bles !  "  she  said,  her  face  lighting  as  his 
darkened. 

"  An  impudent  Negro,"  he  voiced  his  disgust.  "  If  they 
must  appoint  darkies  why  can't  they  get  tractable  ones 
like  my  nigger  Stillings." 

"Stillings?"  she  repeated.  "Why,  he's  the  man 
that  's  waiting." 

"Sam,  is  it?  Used  to  be  one  of  our  servants  —  you 
remember?  Wants  to  borrow  more  money,  I  presume." 
He  went  down-stairs,  after  first  helping  himself  to  a  glass 
of  whiskey,  and  then  gallantly  kissing  his  wife.  Mrs. 
Cresswell  was  more  unsatisfied  than  usual.  She  could  not 
help  feeling  that  Mr.  Cresswell  was  treating  her  about  as 
he  treated  his  wine  —  as  an  indulgence ;  a  loved  one,  a 
regular  one,  but  somehow  not  as  the  reality  and  prose 
of  life,  unless  —  she  started  at  the  thought  —  his  life  was 
all  indulgence.  Having  nothing  else  to  do,  she  went  out 
and  paraded  the  streets,  watching  the  people  who  were 
happy  enough  to  be  busy. 

Cresswell  and  Stillings  had  a  long  conference,  and 
when  Stillings  hastened  away  he  could  not  forbear  cutting 


288    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

a  discreet  pigeon-wing  as  he  rounded  the  corner.  He  had 
been  promised  the  backing  of  the  whole  Southern  delega 
tion  in  his  schemes. 

That  night  Teerswell  called  on  him  in  his  modest 
lodgings,  where  over  hot  whiskey  and  water  they  talked. 

"  The  damned  Southern  upstart,"  growled  Teerswell, 
forgetting  Stillings'  birth-place.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say 
he  's  actually  slated  for  the  place  ?  " 

"  He  's  sure  of  it,  unless  something  turns  up." 

"  Well,  who  'd  have  dreamed  it  ?  "  Teerswell  mixed 
another  stiff  dram. 

"  And  that  is  n't  all,"  came  Sam  Stillings'  unctuous 
voice. 

Teerswell  glanced  at  him.  "  What  else  ?  "  he  asked, 
pausing  with  the  steaming  drink  poised  aloft. 

"  If  I  'm  not  mistaken,  Alwyn  intends  to  marry  Miss 
Wynn." 

"  You  lie !  "  the  other  suddenly  yelled  with  an  oath, 
overturning  his  tumbler  and  striding  across  the  floor. 
"  Do  you  suppose  she  'd  look  at  that  black  —  " 

"  Well,  see  here,"  said  the  astute  Stillings,  checking  the 
details  upon  his  fingers.  "  They  visit  Senator  Smith's 
together;  he  takes  her  home  from  the  Treble  Clef;  they 
say  he  talked  to  nobody  else  at  her  party;  she  recom 
mends  him  for  the  campaign  —  " 

"  What !  "  Teerswell  again  exploded.  But  Stillings 
continued  smoothly: 

"  Oh,  I  have  ways  of  finding  things  out.  She  corre 
sponds  with  him  during  the  campaign ;  she  asks  Smith  to 
make  him  Register ;  and  he  calls  on  her  every  night." 

Teerswell  sat  down  limply. 

"  I  see,"  he  groaned.  "  It 's  all  up.  She  's  jilted  me  — 
and  I  —  and  I  —  " 


CONGRESSMAN  CRESSWELL  289 

"  I  don't  see  as  it  9s  all  up  yet,"  Stillings  tried  to  reas 
sure  him. 

"  But  did  n't  you  say  they  were  engaged  ?  " 

"  I  think  they  are ;  but  — -  well,  you  know  Carrie  Wynn 
better  than  I  do :  suppose,  now  —  suppose  he  should  lose 
the  appointment?  " 

"  But  you  say  that 's  sure." 

"  Unless  something  turns  up." 

"  But  what  can  turn  up  ?  " 

"  We  might  turn  something." 

"  What  —  what  —  I  tell  you  man,  I  'd  —  I  'd  do  any 
thing  to  down  that  nigger.  I  hate  him.  If  you  '11  help 
me  I  '11  do  anything  for  you." 

Stillings  arose  and  carefully  opening  the  hall  door 
peered  out.  Then  he  came  back  and,  seating  himself  close 
to  Teerswell,  pushed  aside  the  whiskey. 

"  Teerswell,"  he  whispered,  "  you  know  I  was  working 
to  be  Register  of  the  Treasury.  Well,  now,  when  the 
scheme  of  making  Alwyn  Treasurer  came  up  they  deter 
mined  to  appoint  a  Southern  white  Republican  and  give 
me  a  place  under  Alwyn.  Now,  if  Alwyn  fails  to  land 
I  've  got  no  chance  for  the  bigger  place,  but  I  've  got  a 
good  chance  to  be  Register  according  to  the  first  plan. 
I  helped  in  the  campaign ;  I  've  got  the  Negro  secret 
societies  backing  me  and  —  I  do  n't  mind  telling  you  — 
the  solid  Southern  Congressional  delegation.  I  'm  trying 
now  ostensibly  for  a  chief-clerkship  under  Bles,  and  I  'm 
pretty  sure  of  it :  it  pays  twenty-five  hundred.  See  here : 
if  we  can  make  Bles  do  sorpe  fool  talking  and  get  it  into 
the  papers,  he  '11  be  ditched,  and  1 11  be  Register." 

"Greet!"  shouted  Teerswell. 

"  Wait  —  wait.  Now,  if  I  get  the  job,  how  would  you 
like  to  be  my  assistant  ?  " 


290   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  Like  it  ?  Why,  great  Jehoshaphat !  I  'd  marry 
Carrie  —  but  how  can  I  help  you?" 

"  This  way.  I  want  to  be  better  known  among  in 
fluential  Negroes.  You  introduce  me  and  let  me  make 
myself  solid.  Especially  I  must  get  in  Miss  Wynn's  set 
so  that  both  of  us  can  watch  her  and  Alwyn,  and  make 
her  friends  ours." 

"  I  '11  do  it  —  shake !  "  And  Stillings  put  his  oily 
hand  into  Teerswell's  nervous  grip. 

"  Now,  here,"  Stillings  went  on,  "  you  stow  all  that 
jealousy  and  heavy  tragedy.  Treat  Alwyn  well  and  call 
on  Miss  Wynn  as  usual  —  see  ?  " 

"  It 's  a  hard  pill  —  but  all  right." 

"  Leave  the  rest  to  me ;  1 'm  hand  in  glove  with  Alwyn. 
I  '11  put  stuff  into  him  that  '11  make  him  wave  the  bloody 
shirt  at  the  next  meeting  of  the  Bethel  Literary  —  see? 
Then  I'll  go  to  Cresswell  and  say,  '  Dangerous  nigger  — , 
just  as  I  told  you.'  He  '11  begin  to  move  things.  You 
see?  Cresswell  is  in  with  Smith  —  both  directors  in  the 
big  Cotton  Combine  —  and  Smith  will  call  Alwyn  down. 
Then  we  '11  think  further." 

"  Stillings,  you  look  like  a  fool,  but  you  're  a  genius." 
And  Teerswell  fairly  hugged  him.  A  few  more  details 
settled,  and  some  more  whiskey  consumed,  and  Teerswell 
went  home  at  midnight  in  high  spirits.  Stillings  looked 
into  the  glass  and  scowled. 

"  Look  like  a  fool,  do  I?  "  he  mused.    "  Well,  I  ain't !  " 

Congressman  Cresswell  was  stirred  to  his  first  political 
activity  by  the  hint  given  him  through  Stillings.  He  not 
only  had  a  strong  personal  dislike  for  Alwyn,  but  he  re 
garded  the  promise  to  him  of  a  high  office  as  a  menace  to 
the  South. 

The  second  speech  which  Alwyn  made  at  the  Bethel 


CONGRESSMAN  CRESSWELL  291 

Literary  was,  as  Stillings  foresaw,  a  reply  to  the  sting 
ing  criticisms  of  certain  colored  papers  engineered  by 
Teerswell,  who  said  that  Alwyn  had  been  bribed  to  remain 
loyal  to  the  Republicans  by  a  six  thousand  dollar  office. 
Alwyn  had  been  cut  to  the  quick,  and  his  reply  was  a 
straight  out  defence  of  Negro  rights  and  a  call  to  the  Re 
publican  Party  to  redeem  its  pledges. 

Caroline  Wynn,  seeing  the  rocks  for  which  her  political 
craft  was  headed,  adroitly  steered  several  newspaper  re 
ports  into  the  waste  basket,  but  Stillings  saw  to  it  that  a 
circumstantial  account  was  in  the  Colored  American,  and 
that  a  copy  of  this  paper  was  in  Congressman  CresswelPs 
hands.  Cresswell  lost  no  time  in  calling  on  Senator  Smith 
and  pointing  out  to  him  that  Bles  Alwyn  was  a  dangerous 
Negro:  seeking  social  equality,  hating  white  people,  and 
scheming  to  make  trouble.  He  was  too  young  and  heady. 
It  would  be  fatal  to  give  such  a  man  office  and  influence ; 
fatal  for  the  development  of  the  South,  and  bad  for  the 
Cotton  Combine. 

Senator  Smith  was  unconvinced.  Alwyn  struck  him  as 
a  well-balanced  fellow,  and  he  thought  he  deserved  the 
office.  He  would,  however,  warn  him  to  make  no  further 
speeches  like  that  of  last  night.  Cresswell  mentioned 
Stillings  as  a  good,  inoffensive  Negro  who  knew  his  place 
and  could  be  kept  track  of. 

"  Stillings  is  a  good  man,"  admitted  Smith ;  "  but 
Alwyn  is  better.  However,  I  '11  bear  what  you  say  in 
mind." 

Cresswell  found  Mr.  Easterly  in  Mrs.  Vanderpool's 
parlor,  and  that  gentleman  was  annoyed  at  the  news. 

"  I  especially  picked  out  this  Alwyn  because  he  was 
Southern  and  tractable,  and  seemed  to  have  sense  enough 
to  know  how  to  say  well  what  we  wanted  to  say." 


292   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  When,  as  a  matter  of  fact,"  drawled  Mrs.  Vander- 
pool,  "  he  was  simply  honest." 

"  The  South  won't  stand  it,"  Cresswell  decisively 
affirmed. 

"  Well  —  "  began  Mr.  Easterly. 

"  See  here,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Vanderpool.  "  I  'm  in 
terested  in  Alwyn;  in  fact,  an  honest  man  in  politics, 
even  if  he  is  black,  piques  my  curiosity.  Give  him  a 
chance  and  I  '11  warrant  he  '11  develop  all  the  desirable 
traits  of  a  first  class  office-holder." 

Easterly  hesitated.  "  We  must  not  offend  the  South, 
and  we  must  placate  the  Negroes,"  he  said. 

"  The  right  sort  of  Negro  —  one  like  Stillings  —  ap 
pointed  to  a  reasonable  position,  would  do  both,"  opined 
Cresswell. 

"It  evidently  didn't,"  Mrs.  Vanderpool  interjected. 

Cresswell  arose.  "I  tell  you,  Mr.  Easterly,  I  object; 
—  it  must  n't  go  through."  He  took  his  leave. 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  did  not  readily  give  up  her  plea  for 
Alwyn,  and  bade  Zora  get  Mr.  Smith  on  the  telephone  for 
discussion. 

"  Well,"  reported  Easterly,  hanging  up  the  receiver, 
"  we  may  land  him.  It  seems  that  he  is  engaged  to  a 
Washington  school-teacher,  and  Smith  says  she  has  him 
well  in  hand.  She  's  a  pretty  shrewd  proposition,  and 
understands  that  Alwyn's  only  chance  now  lies  in  keep 
ing  his  mouth  shut.  We  may  land  him,"  hte  repeated, 

"  Engaged !  "  gasp«d  Mrs.  Vanderpool. 

Zora  quietly  closed  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
THE  VISION  OF  ZORA 

HOW  Zora  found  the  little  church  she  never  knew; 
but  somehow,  in  the  long  dark  wanderings  which 
she  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  taking  at  night 
fall,  she  stood  one  evening  before  it.  It  looked  warm,  and 
she  was  cold.  It  was  full  of  her  people,  and  she  was  very, 
very  lonely.  She  sat  in  a  back  seat,  and  saw  with  un 
seeing  eyes.  She  said  again,  as  she  had  said  to  herself 
a  hundred  times,  that  it  was  all  right  and  just  what  she 
had  expected.  What  else  could  she  have  dreamed?  That 
he  should  ever  marry  her  was  beyond  possibility;  that 
had  been  settled  long  since  —  there  where  the  tall,  dark 
pines,  wan  with  the  shades  of  evening,  cast  their  haunt 
ing  shadows  across  the  Silver  Fleece  and  half  hid  the 
blood-washed  west.  After  that  he  would  marry  some  one 
else,  of  course;  some  good  and  pure  woman  who  would 
help  and  uplift  and  serve  him. 

She  had  dreamed  that  she  would  help  —  unknown,  un 
seen  —  and  perhaps  she  had  helped  a  little  through  Mrs. 
Vanderpool.  It  was  all  right,  and  yet  why  so  suddenly 
had  the  threads  of  life  let  go?  Why  was  she  drifting  in 
vast  waters;  in  uncharted  wastes  of  sea?  Why  was  the 
puzzle  of  life  suddenly  so  intricate  when  but  a  little  week 
ago  she  was  reading  it,  and  its  beauty  and  wisdom  and 

[  293] 


294    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

power  were  thrilling  her  delighted  hands?  Could  it  be 
possible  that  all  unconsciously  she  had  dared  dream  a 
forbidden  dream?  No,  she  had  always  rejected  it.  When 
no  one  else  had  the  right ;  when  no  one  thought ;  when  no 
one  cared,  she  had  hovered  over  his  soul  as  some  dark 
guardian  angel;  but  now,  now  somebody  else  was  receiv 
ing  his  gratitude.  It  was  all  right,  she  supposed;  but 
she,  the  outcast  child  of  the  swamp,  what  was  there  for 
her  to  do  in  the  great  world  —  her,  the  burden  of  whose 
sin  — 

But  then  came  the  voice  of  the  preacher :  "  Behold  the 
Lamb  of  God,  that  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world." 

She  found  herself  all  at  once  intently  listening.  She 
had  been  to  church  many  times  before,  but  under  the  ser 
mons  and  ceremonies  she  had  always  sat  coldly  inert.  In 
the  South  the  cries,  contortions,  and  religious  frenzy  left 
her  mind  untouched;  she  did  not  laugh  or  mock,  she 
simply  sat  and  watched  and  wondered.  At  the  North,  in 
the  white  churches,  she  enjoyed  the  beauty  of  wall,  win 
dow,  and  hymn,  liked  the  voice  and  surplice  of  the 
preacher;  but  his  words  had  no  reference  to  anything  in 
which  she  was  interested.  Here  suddenly  came  an  earnest 
voice  addressed,  by  singular  chance,  to  her  of  all  the 
world. 

She  listened,  bending  forward,  her  eyes  glued  to  the 
speaker's  lips  and  letting  no  word  drop.  He  had  the 
build  and  look  of  the  fanatic :  thin  to  emaciation ;  brown ; 
brilliant-eyed;  his  words  snapped  in  nervous  energy  and 
rang  in  awful  earnestness. 

"  Life  is  sin,  and  sin  is  sorrow.  Sorrow  is  born  of 
selfishness  and  self-seeking  —  our  own  good,  our  own 
happiness,  our  own  glory.  As  if  any  one  of  us  were  worth 
a  life!  No,  never.  A  single  self  as  an  end  is,  and  ought 


THE  VISION  OF  ZORA  095 

to  be,  disappointment;  it  is  too  low;  it  is  nothing.  Only 
in  a  whole  world  of  selves,  infinite,  endless,  eternal  world 
on  worlds  of  selves  —  only  in  their  vast  good  is  true  sal 
vation.  The  good  of  others  is  our  true  good;  work  for 
others;  not  for  your  salvation,  but  the  salvation  of  the 
world."  The  audience  gave  a  low  uneasy  groan  and  the 
minister  in  whose  pulpit  the  stranger  preached  stirred 
uneasily.  But  he  went  on  tensely,  with  flying  words : 

"  Unselfishness  is  sacrifice  —  Jesus  was  supreme  sac 
rifice."  ("Amen,"  screamed  a  voice.)  "In  your  dark 
lives,"  he  cried,  "who  is  the  King  of  Glory?  Sacrifice. 
Lift  up  your  heads,  then,  ye  gates  of  prejudice  and  hate, 
and  let  the  King  of  Glory  come  in.  Forget  yourselves 
and  your  petty  wants,  and  behold  your  starving  people. 
The  wail  of  black  millions  sweeps  the  air  —  east  and  west 
they  cry,  Help !  Help !  Are  you  dumb  ?  Are  you  blind  ? 
Do  you  dance  and  laugh,  and  hear  and  see  not?  The  cry 
of  death  is  in  the  air ;  they  murder,  burn,  and  maim  us ! " 
( "  Oh  —  oh  —  "  moaned  the  people  swaying  in  their 
seats.)  "  When  we  cry  they  mock  us  ;  they  ruin  our  women 
and  debauch  our  children  —  what  shall  we  do  ? 

"  Behold  the  Lamb  of  God  that  taketh  away  sin.  Be 
hold  the  Supreme  Sacrifice  that  makes  us  clean.  Give  up 
your  pleasures;  give  up  your  wants;  give  up  all  to  the 
weak  and  wretched  of  our  people.  Go  down  to  Pharaoh 
and  smite  him  in  God's  name.  Go  down  to  the  South 
where  we  writhe.  Strive  —  work  —  build  —  hew  —  lead 
—  inspire!  God  calls.  Will  you  hear?  Come  to  Jesus.  > 
The  harvest  is  waiting.  Who  will  cry :  '  Here  am  I,  send 
me! ' 

Zora  rose  and  walked  up  the  aisle;  she  knelt  before  the 
altar  and  answered  the  call :  "  Here  am  I  —  send  me." 

And  then  she  walked  out.     Above  her  sailed  the  same 


296    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

great  stars ;  around  her  hummed  the  same  hoarse  city ; 
but  within  her  soul  sang  some  new  song  of  peace. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Zora  ?  "  Mrs.  Vanderpool  in 
quired,  for  she  seemed  to  see  in  the  girl's  face  and  car 
riage  some  subtle  change;  something  that  seemed  to  tell 
how  out  of  the  dream  had  stepped  the  dreamer  into  the 
realness  of  things ;  how  suddenly  the  seeker  saw ;  how  to 
the  wanderer,  the  Way  was  opened. 

Just  how  she  sensed  this  Mrs.  Vanderpool  could  not 
have  explained,  nor  could  Zora.  Was  there  a  change, 
sudden,  cataclysmic?  No.  There  were  to  come  in  future 
days  all  the  old  doubts  and  shiverings,  the  old  restless 
cry :  "  It  is  all  right  —  all  right !  "  But  more  and  more, 
above  the  doubt  and  beyond  the  unrest,  rose  the  great 
end,  the  mighty  ideal,  that  flickered  and  wavered,  but 
ever  grew  and  waxed  strong,  until  it  became  possible, 
and  through  it  all  things  else  were  possible.  Thus  from 
the  grave  of  youth  and  love,  amid  the  soft,  low  singing 
of  dark  and  bowed  worshippers,  the  Angel  of  the  Resur 
rection  rolled  away  the  stone. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Zora?"  Mrs.  Vanderpool 
repeated. 

Zora  looked  up,  almost  happily  —  standing  poised  on 
her  feet  as  if  to  tell  of  strength  and  purpose. 

"  I  have  found  the  Way,"  she  cried  joyously. 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  gave  her  a  long  searching  look. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  've  been 
waiting." 

"  I  'm  sorry  —  but  I  Ve  been  —  converted."  And  she 
told  her  story. 

"  Pshaw,  Zora !  "  Mrs.  Vanderpool  uttered  impatiently. 
"  He  's  a  fakir." 


THE  VISION  OF  ZORA  297 

"  Maybe,"  said  Zora  serenely  and  quietly ;  "  but  he 
brought  the  Word." 

"  Zora,  don't  talk  cant ;  it  is  n't  worthy  of  your 
intelligence." 

"  It  was  more  than  intelligent  —  it  was  true." 

"  Zora  —  listen,  child !  You  were  wrought  up  to-night, 
nervous  —  wild.  You  were  happy  to  meet  your  people, 
and  where  he  said  one  word  you  supplied  two.  What  you 
attribute  to  him  is  the  voice  of  your  own  soul." 

But  Zora  merely  smiled.  "  All  you  say  may  be  true. 
But  what  does  it  matter?  I  know  one  thing,  like  the  man 
in  the  Bible :  '  Whereas  I  was  blind  now  I  see.' ' 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  gave  a  little  helpless  gesture.  "  And 
what  shall  you  do  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  'm  going  back  South  to  work  for  my  people." 

"  When  ?  "  The  old  careworn  look  stole  across  Mrs. 
Vanderpool's  features. 

Zora  came  gently  forward  and  slipped  her  arms  lov 
ingly  about  the  other  woman's  neck. 

"  Not  right  off,"  she  said  gently ;  "  not  until  I  learn 
more.  I  hate  to  leave  you,  but  —  it  calls !  " 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  held  the  dark  girl  close  and  began 
craftily : 

"  You  see,  Zora,  the  more  you  know  the  more  you 
can  do." 

"  Yes." 

"  And  if  you  are  determined  I  will  see  that  you  are 
taught.      You    must    know    settlement-work    and    reform 
movements ;    not    simply    here   but  — "    she   hesitated  — 
"  in  England  —  in  France." 

"  Will  it  take  long?  "  Zora  asked,  smoothing  the  lady's 
hair. 


298    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  considered.  "  No  —  five  years  is  not 
long;  it  is  all  too  short." 

"  Five  years :  it  is  very  long ;  but  there  is  a  great  deal 
to  learn.  Must  I  study  five  years  ?  " 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  threw  back  her  head. 

"  Zora,  I  am  selfish  I  know,  but  five  years  truly  is  none 
too  long.  Then,  too,  Zora,  we  have  work  to  do  in  that 
time." 

"What?" 

"  There  is  Alwyn's  career,"  and  Mrs.  Vanderpool 
looked  into  Zora's  eyes. 

The  girl  did  not  shrink,  but  she  paused. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  slowly,  "  we  must  help  him." 

"  And  after  he  rises  —  " 

"  He  will  marry." 

"Whom?" 

"  The  woman  he  loves,"  returned  Zora,  quietly. 

"  Yes  —  that  is  best,"  sighed  Mrs.  Vanderpool.  "  But 
how  shall  we  help  him?  " 

"  Make  him  Treasurer  of  the  United  States  without 
sacrificing  his  manhood  or  betraying  his  people." 

"  I  can  do  that,"  said  Mrs.  Vanderpool  slowly. 

"  It  will  cost  something,"  said  Zora. 

"  I  will  do  it,"  was  the  lady's  firm  assurance.  Zora 
kissed  her. 

The  next  afternoon  Mrs.  Cresswell  went  down  to  a 
white  social  settlement  of  which  Congressman  Todd  had 
spoken,  where  a  meeting  of  the  Civic  Club  was  to  be  held. 
She  had  come  painfully  to  realize  that  if  she  was  to  have 
a  career  she  must  make  it  for  herself.  The  plain,  un 
welcome  truth  was  that  her  husband  had  no  great  inter 
ests  in  life  in  which  she  could  find  permanent  pleasure. 
Companionship  and  love  there  was  and,  she  told  herself, 


THE  VISION  OF  ZORA  299 

always  would  be;  but  in  some  respects  their  lives  must 
flow  in  two  streams.  Last  night,  for  the  second  time,  she 
had  irritated  him;  he  had  spoken  almost  harshly  to  her, 
and  she  knew  she  must  brood  or  work  to-day.  And  so 
she  hunted  work,  eagerly. 

She  felt  the  atmosphere  the  moment  she  entered.  There 
were  carelessly  gowned  women  and  men  smart  and  shabby, 
but  none  of  them  were  thinking  of  clothes  nor  even  of 
one  another.  They  had  great  deeds  in  mind;  they  were 
scanning  the  earth ;  they  were  toiling  for  men.  The  same 
grim  excitement  that  sends  smaller  souls  hunting  for  birds 
and  rabbits  and  lions,  had  sent  them  hunting  the  enemies 
of  mankind:  they  were  bent  to  the  chase,  scenting  the 
game,  knowing  the  infinite  meaning  of  their  hunt  and 
the  glory  of  victory.  Mary  Cresswell  had  listened  but  a 
half  hour  before  her  world  seemed  so  small  and  sordid 
and  narrow,  so  trivial,  that  a  sense  of  shame  spread  over 
her.  These  people  were  not  only  earnest,  but  expert. 
They  acknowledged  the  need  of  Mr.  Todd's  educational 
bill. 

"  But  the  Republicans  are  going  to  side-track  it ;  I 
have  that  on  the  best  authority,"  said  one. 

"  True;  but  can't  we  force  them  to  it?  " 

"  Only  by  political  power,  and  they  've  just  won  a 
campaign." 

"  They  won  it  by  Negro  votes,  and  the  Negro  who  se 
cured  the  votes  is  eager  for  this  bill ;  he  's  a  fine,  honest 
fellow." 

"  Very  well ;  work  with  him ;  and  when  we  can  be  of  real 
service  let  us  know.  Meantime,  this  Child  Labor  bill  is 
different.  It 's  bound  to  pass.  Both  parties  are  back  of 
it,  and  public  opinion  is  aroused.  Now  our  work  is  to 
force  amendments  enough  to  make  the  bill  effective." 


300    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

Discussion  followed;  not  flamboyant  and  declamatory, 
but  tense,  staccato,  pointed.  Mrs.  Cresswell  found  her 
self  taking  part.  Someone  mentioned  her  name,  and  one 
or  two  glances  of  interest  and  even  curiosity  were  thrown 
her  way.  Congressmen's  wives  were  rare  at  the  Civic 
Club. 

Congressman  Todd  urged  Mrs.  Cresswell  to  stay  after 
the  discussion  and  attend  a  meeting  of  the  managers  and 
workers  of  the  Washington  social  settlements. 

"  Have  you  many  settlements  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Three  in  all  —  two  white  and  one  colored." 

"And  will  they  all  be  represented?" 

"  Yes,  of  course,  Mrs.  Cresswell.  If  you  object  to 
meeting  the  colored  people  — 

Mrs.  Cresswell  blushed. 

"  No,  indeed,"  she  answered ;  "  I  used  to  teach  colored 
people." 

She  watched  this  new  group  gather:  a  business  man, 
two  fashionable  ladies,  three  college  girls,  a  gray-haired 
colored  woman,  and  a  young  spectacled  brown  man,  and 
then,  to  her  surprise,  Mrs.  Vanderpool  and  Zora. 

Zora  was  scarcely^  seated  when  that  strange  sixth  sense 
of  hers  told  her  that  something  had  happened,  and  it 
needed  but  a  side-glance  from  Mrs.  Vanderpool  to  indi 
cate  what  it  was.  She  sat  with  folded  hands  and  the  old 
dreamy  look  in  her  eyes.  In  one  moment  she  lived  it  all 
again  —  the  red  cabin,  the  moving  oak,  the  sowing  of  the 
Fleece,  and  its  fearful  reaping.  And  now,  when  she  turned 
her  head,  she  would  see  the  woman  who  was  to  marry 
Bles  Alwyn.  She  had  often  dreamed  of  her,  and  had  set 
a  high  ideal.  She  wanted  her  to  be  handsome,  well  dressed, 
earnest  and  good.  She  felt  a  sort  of  personal  proprietor- 


THE  VISION  OF  ZORA  301 

ship  in  her,  and  when  at  last  the  quickened  pulse  died  to 
its  regular  healthy  beat,  she  turned  and  looked  and  knew. 

Caroline  Wynn  deemed  it  a  part  of  the  whit*  world's 
education  to  participate  in  meetings  like  this;  doing  so 
was  not  pleasant,  but  it  appealed  to  her  cynicism  and 
mocking  sense  of  pleasure.  She  always  roused  hostility 
as  she  entered:  her  gown  was  too  handsome,  her  gloves 
too  spotless,  her  air  had  hauteur  enough  to  be  almost 
impudent  in  the  opinion  of  most  white  people.  Then 
gradually  her  intelligence,  her  cool  wit  and  self-posses 
sion,  would  conquer  and  she  would  go  gracefully  out 
leaving  a  rather  bewildered  audience  behind.  She  sat  to 
day  with  her  dark  gold  profile  toward  Zora,  and  the  girl 
looked  and  was  glad.  She  was  such  a  woman  she  would 
have  Bles  marry.  She  was  glad,  and  she  choked  back 
the  sob  that  struggled  and  fought  in  her  throat. 

The  meeting  never  got  beyond  a  certain  constraint. 
The  Congressman  made  an  excellent  speech;  there  were 
various  sets  of  figures  read  by  the  workers;  and  Miss 
Wynn  added  a  touch  of  spice  by  several  pertinent  ques 
tions  and  comments.  Then,  as  the  meeting  broke  up  and 
Mrs.  Cresswell  came  forward  to  speak  to  Zora,  Mrs. 
Vanderpool  managed  to  find  herself  near  Miss  Wynn  and 
to  be  introduced.  They  exchanged  a  few  polite  phrases, 
fencing  delicately  to  test  the  other's  wrist  and  interest. 
They  touched  on  the  weather,  and  settlement  work; 
but  Miss  Wynn  did  not  propose  to  be  stranded  on  the 
Negro  probiem. 

"  I  suppose  the  next  bit  of  excitement  will  be  the  in 
auguration,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Vanderpool. 

"  I  understand  it  will  be  unusually  elaborate,"  re 
turned  Mrs.  Vanderpool,  a  little  surprised  at  the  turn. 


302    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

Then  she  added  pleasantly :  "  I  think  I  shall  see  it 
through,  from  speech  to  ball." 

"  Yes,  I  do  usually,"  Miss  Wynn  asserted,  adjusting 
her  furs. 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  was  further  surprised.  Did  colored 
people  attend  the  ball? 

"  We  sorely  need  a  national  ball-room,"  she  said. 
"  Is  n't  the  census  building  wretched  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  smiled  Miss  Wynn. 

"  Oh,  I  thought  you  said  —  " 

"  I  meant  our  ball." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Mrs.  Vanderpool  in  turn.  "  Oh !  "  Here 
a  thought  came.  Of  course,  the  colored  people  had  their 
own  ball;  she  remembered  having  heard  about  it.  Why 
not  send  Zora?  She  plunged  in: 

"  Miss  Wynn,  I  have  a  maid  —  such  an  intelligent  girl ; 
I  do  wish  she  could  attend  your  ball  —  - "  seeing  her 
blunder,  she  paused.  Miss  Wynn  was  coolly  buttoning 
her  glove. 

"  Yes,"  she  acknowledged  politely,  "  few  of  us  can  af 
ford  maids,  and  therefore  we  do  not  usually  arrange  for 
them ;  but  I  think  we  can  have  your  protegee  look  on  from 
the  gallery.  Good-afternoon." 

As  Mrs.  Vanderpool  drove  home  she  related  the  talk  to 
Zora.  Zora  was  silent  at  first.  Then  she  said  de 
liberately  : 

"Miss  Wynn  was  right." 

"Why,  Zora!" 

"  Did  Helene  attend  the  ball  four  years  ago?  " 

"  But,  Zora,  must  you  folk  ape  our  nonsense  as  well  as 
our  sense  ?  " 

"  You  force  us  to,"  said  Zora. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  ANNUNCIATION 

THE  new  President  had  been  inaugurated.  Beneath 
the  creamy  pile  of  the  old  Capitol,  and  facing  the 
new  library,  he  had  stood  aloft  and  looked  down 
on  a  waving  sea  of  faces  —  black-coated,  jostling,  eager- 
eyed  fellow  creatures.  They  had  watched  his  lips  move, 
had  scanned  eagerly  his  dress  and  the  gowned  and  dec 
orated  dignitaries  beside  him;  and  then,  with  blare  of 
band  and  prancing  of  horses,  he  had  been  whirled  down 
the  dip  and  curve  of  that  long  avenue,  with  its  medley  of 
meanness  and  thrift  and  hurry  and  wealth,  until,  swing 
ing  sharply,  the  dim  walls  of  the  White  House  rose  before 
him.  He  entered  with  a  sigh. 

Then  the  vast,  welter  of  humanity  dissolved  and 
streamed  hither  and  thither,  gaping  and  laughing  until 
night,  when  thousands  poured  into  the  red  barn  of  the 
census  shack  and  entered  the  artificial  fairyland  within. 
The  President  walked  through,  smiling;  the  senators  pro 
tected  their  friends  in  the  crush;  and  Harry  Cresswell  led 
his  wife  to  a  little  oasis  of  Southern  ladies  and  gentlemen. 

"  This  is  democracy  for  you,"  said  he,  wiping  his  brow. 

From  a  whirling  eddy  Mrs.  Vanderpool  waved  at  them, 
and  they  rescued  her. 

"  I  think  I  am  ready  to  go,"  she  gasped.  "  Did  you 
ever ! " 

[303] 


304    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  Come,"  Cresswell  invited.  But  just  then  the  crowd 
pushed  them  apart  and  shot  them  along,  and  Mrs.  Cress- 
well  found  herself  clinging  to  her  husband  amid  two  great 
whirling  variegated  throngs  of  driving,  white-faced 
people.  The  band  crashed  and  blared ;  the  people  laughed 
and  pushed;  and  with  rhythmic  sound  and  swing  the 
mighty  throng  was  dancing. 

It  took  much  effort,  but  at  last  the  Cresswell  party  es 
caped  and  rolled  off  in  their  carriages.  They  swept  into 
the  avenue  and  out  again,  then  up  14th  Street,  where, 
turning  for  some  street  obstruction,  they  passed  a  throng 
of  carriages  on  a  cross  street. 

"  It 's  the  other  ball,"  cried  Mrs.  Vanderpool,  and 
amid  laughter  she  added,  "  Let  *s  go !  " 

It  was  —  the  other  ball.  For  Washington  is  itself,  and 
v  something  else  besides.  Along  beside  it  ever  runs  that 
dark  and  haunting  echo ;  that  shadowy  world-in-world 
with  its  accusing  silence,  its  emphatic  self-sufficiency. 
Mrs.  Cresswell  at  first  demurred.  She  thought  of  Els- 
peth's  cabin :  the  dirt,  the  smell,  the  squalor :  of  course, 
this  would  be  different;  but  —  well,  Mrs.  Cresswell  had 

I     little  inclination  for  slumming.     She  was  interested  in  the 
under-world,  but  intellectually,  not  by  personal  contact. 
She  did  not  know  that  this  was  a  side-world,  not  an  under 
world.    Yet  the  imposing  building  did  not  look  sordid. 
"  Hired  ?  "  asked  some  one. 
"  No,  owned." 
"Indeed!" 

TJaen  there  was  a  hitch. 
"  Tickets  ?" 

"  Where  can  we  buy  them  ?  " 
"  Not  on  sale,"  was  the  curt  reply. 
"  Actually  exclusive ! "  sneered  Cresswell,  for  he  could 


THE  ANNUNCIATION  305 

not  imagine  any  one  unwelcome  at  a  Negro  ball.  Then 
he  bethought  himself  of  Sam  Stillings  and  sent  for 
him.  In  a  few  minutes  he  had  a  dozen  complimentary 
tickets  in  his  hand. 

They  entered  the  balcony  and  sat  down.  Mary  Cress- 
well  leaned  forward.  It  was  interesting.  Beneath  her 
was  an  ordinary  pretty  ball  —  flowered,  silked,  and  rib 
boned  ;  with  swaying  whirling  figures,  music,  and  laughter, 
and  all  the  human  fun  of  gayety  and  converse. 

And  then  she  was  impressed  with  the  fact  that  this 
was  no  ordinary  scene;  it  was,  on  the  contrary,  most 
extraordinary. 

There  was  a  black  man  waltzing  with  a  white  woman  — 
no,  she  was  not  white,  for  Mary  caught  the  cream  and 
curl  of  the  girl  as  she  swept  past:  but  there  was  a  white 
man  (was  he  white?)  and  a  black  woman.  The  color  of 
the  scene  was  wonderful.  The  hard  human  white  seemed 
to  glow  and  live  and  run  a  mad  gamut  of  the  spectrum, 
from  morn  till  night,  from  white  to  black ;  through  red  and 
sombre  browns,  pale  and  brilliant  yellows,  dead  and  liv 
ing  blacks.  Through  her  opera-glasses  Mary  scanned 
their  hair;  she  noted  everything  from  the  infinitely 
twisted,  crackled,  dead,  and  grayish-black  to  the  piled  mass 
of  red  golden  sunlight.  Her  eyes  went  dreaming;  there 
below  was  the  gathering  of  the  worlds.  She  saw  types 
of  all  nations  and  all  lands  swirling  beneath  her  in  hu 
man  brotherhood,  and  a  great  wonder  shook  her.  They 
seemed  so  happy.  Surely,  this  was  no  nether  world;  it 
was  upper  earth,  and  —  her  husband  beckoned;  he  had 
been  laughing  incontinently.  He  saw  nothing  but  a  crowd 
of  queer  looking  people  doing  things  they  were  not  made 
to  do  and  appearing  absurdly  happy  over  it.  It  irritated 
him  unreasonably. 


306    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  See  the  washer-woman  in  red,"  he  whispered.  "  Look 
at  the  monkey.  Come,  let 's  go." 

They  trooped  noisily  down-stairs,  and  Cresswell  walked 
unceremoniously  between  a  black  man  and  his  partner. 
Mrs.  Vanderpool  recognized  and  greeted  the  girl  as  Miss 
Wynn.  Mrs.  Cresswell  did  not  notice  her,  but  she  paused 
with  a  start  of  recognition  at  the  sight  of  the  man. 

"  Why,  Bles !  "  she  exclaimed  impetuously,  starting  to 
hold  out  her  hand.  She  was  sincerely  pleased  at  seeing 
him.  Then  she  remembered.  She  bowed  and  smiled,  look 
ing  at  him  with  interest  and  surprise.  He  was  correctly 
dressed,  and  the  white  shirt  set  off  the  comeliness  of  his 
black  face  in  compelling  contrast.  He  carried  himself 
like  a  man,  and  bowed  with  gravity  and  dignity.  She 
passed  on  and  heard  her  husband's  petulant  voice  in 
her  ear. 

"  Mary  —  Mary !  for  Heaven's  sake,  come  on ;  don't 
shake  hands  with  niggers." 

It  was  recurring  flashes  of  temper  like  this,  together 
with  evidences  of  dubious  company  and  a  growing  fond 
ness  for  liquor,  that  drove  Mary  Cresswell  more  and 
more  to  find  solace  in  the  work  of  Congressman  Todd's 
Civic  Club.  She  collected  statistics  for  several  of  the 
Committee,  wrote  letters,  interviewed  a  few  persons,  and 
felt  herself  growing  in  usefulness  and  importance.  She 
did  not  mention  these  things  to  her  husband;  she  knew 
he  would  not  object,  but  she  shrank  from  his  ridicule. 

The  various  causes  advocated  by  the  Civic  Club  felt 
the  impetus  of  the  aggressive  work  of  the  organization. 
This  was  especially  the  case  with  the  National  Education 
Bill  and  the  amendment  to  the  Child  Labor  Bill.  The 
movement  became  strong  enough  to  call  Mr.  Easterly 


THE  ANNUNCIATION  307 

down  from  New  York.  He  and  the  inner  circle  went  over 
matters  carefully. 

"We  need  the  political  strength  of  the  South,"  said 
Easterly ;  "  not  only  in  framing  national  legislation  in 
our  own  interests,  but  always  in  State  laws.  Particularly, 
we  must  get  them  into  line  to  offset  Todd's  foolishness. 
The  Child  Labor  Bill  must  either  go  through  unamended 
or  be  killed.  The  Cotton  Inspection  Bill  —  our  chief  meas 
ure  —  must  be  slipped  through  quietly  by  Southern  votes, 
while  in  the  Tariff  mix-up  we  must  take  good  care  of 
cotton. 

"  Now,  on  the  other  hand,  we  are  offending  the  South 
erners  in  three  ways :  Todd's  revived  Blair  Bill  is  too  good 
a  thing  for  niggers;  the  South  is  clamoring  for  a  first 
class  embassy  appointment;  and  the  President's  nomina 
tion  of  Alwyn  as  Treasurer  will  raise  a  howl  from  Virginia 
to  Texas." 

"  There  is  some  strong  influence  back  of  Alwyn,"  said 
Senator  Smith ;  "  not  only  are  the  Negroes  enthused,  but 
the  President  has  daily  letters  from  prominent  whites." 

"  The  strong  influence  is  named  Vanderpool,"  Easterly 
drily  remarked.  "  She  's  playing  a  bigger  political  game 
than  I  laid  out  for  her.  That 's  the  devil  with  women : 
they  can't  concentrate:  they  get  too  damned  many  side 
issues.  Now,  I  offered  her  husband  the  French  ambassa 
dorship  provided  she  'd  help  keep  the  Southerners  feel 
ing  good  toward  us.  She 's  hand  in  glove  with  the 
Southerners,  all  right;  but  she  wants  not  only  her  hus 
band's  appointment  but  this  darkey's  too." 

"  But  that 's  been  decided,  has  n't  it?  "  put  in  Smith. 

"  Yes,"  grumbled  Easterly ;  "  but  it  makes  it  hard  al 
ready.  At  any  rate,  the  Educational  Bill  must  be  killed 
right  off.  No  more  talk ;  no  more  consideration  —  kill 


308   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

it,  and  kill  it  now.  Now  about  this  Child  Labor  Bill: 
Todd's  Civic  Club  is  raising  the  mischief.  Who  's  respon 
sible?" 

The  silent  Jackson  spoke  up.  "  Congressman  Cress- 
well's  wife  has  been  very  active,  and  Todd  thinks  they  *ve 
got  the  South  with  them." 

"  Congressman  Cresswell's  wife !  "  Easterly's  face  was 
one  great  exclamation  point.  "  Now  what  the  devil  does 
this  mean?  " 

"  I  'm  afraid,"  said  Senator  Smith,  "  that  it  may  mean 
an  attempt  on  the  part  of  Cresswell's  friends  to  boost 
him  for  the  French  ambassadorship.  He 's  the  only 
Southerner  with  money  enough  to  support  the  position, 
and  there  's  been  a  good  deal  of  quiet  talk,  I  understand, 
in  Southern  circles." 

"  But  it 's  treason !  "  Easterly  shouted.  "  It  will  ruin 
the  plans  of  the  Combine  to  put  this  amended  Child  Labor 
Bill  through.  John  Taylor  has  just  written  me  that  he  's 
starting  mills  at  Toomsville,  and  that  he  depends  on  un 
restricted  labor  conditions,  as  we  must  throughout  the 
South.  Does  n't  Cresswell  know  this  ?  " 

"  Of  course.  I  think  it 's  just  a  bluff.  If  he  gets  the 
appointment  he  '11  let  the  bill  drop." 

"  I  see  —  everybody  is  raising  his  price,  is  he?  Pretty 
soon  the  darky  will  be  holding  us  up.  Well,  see  Cress- 
well,  and  put  it  to  him  strong.  I  must  go.  Wire  me." 

Senator  Smith  presented  the  matter  bluntly  to  Cress- 
well  as  soon  as  he  saw  him.  "  Which  would  the  South 
prefer  —  Todd's  Education  Bill,  or  Alwyn's  appoint 
ment?  " 

It  was  characteristic  of  Cresswell  that  the  smaller  mat 
ter  of  Stillings'  intrigue  should  interest  him  more  than 
Todd's  measure,  of  which  he  knew  nothing. 


THE  ANNUNCIATION  309 

"What  is  Todd's  bill?"  asked  Harry  Cresswell,  dark 
ening. 

Smith,  surprised,  got  out  a  copy  and  explained.  Cress- 
well  interrupted  before  he  was  half  through. 

"  Don't  you  see,"  he  said  angrily,  "  that  that  will  ruin 
our  plans  for  the  Cotton  Combine?" 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  replied  Smith ;  "  but  it  will  not  do  the 
immediate  harm  that  the  amended  Child  Labor  Bill  will 
do." 

"What's  that?"  demanded  Cresswell,  frowning  again. 

Senator  Smith  regarded  him  again :  was  Cresswell  play 
ing  a  shrewd  game? 

"  Why,"  he  said  at  length,  "  are  n't  you  promoting  it?  " 

"  No,"  was  the  reply.     "  Never  heard  of  it." 

"  But,"  Senator  Smith  began,  and  paused.  He  turned 
and  took  up  a  circular  issued  by  the  Civic  Club,  giving 
a  careful  account  of  their  endeavors  to  amend  and  pass 
the  Child  Labor  Bill.  Cresswell  read  it,  then  threw  it 
aside. 

"  Nonsense !  "  he  indignantly  repudiated  the  measure. 
"  That  will  never  do ;  it 's  as  bad  as  the  Education  Bill." 

"  But  your  wife  is  encouraging  it  and  we  thought  you 
were  back  of  it." 

Cresswell  stared  in  blank  amazement. 

"  My  wife !  "  he  gasped.  Then  he  bethought  himself. 
"  It 's  a  mistake,"  he  supplemented ;  "  Mrs.  Cresswell  gave 
them  no  authority  to  sign  her  name." 

"  She  's  been  very  active,"  Smith  persisted,  "  and  nat 
urally  we  were  all  anxious." 

Cresswell  bit  his  lip.  "  I  shall  speak  to  her ;  she  does 
not  realize  what  use  they  are  making  of  her  passing 
interest." 

He  hurried  away,  and  Senator  Smith  felt  a  bit  sorry 


310    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

for  Mrs.  Cresswell  when  he  recalled  the  expression  on 
her  husband's  face. 

Mary  Cresswell  did  not  get  home  until  nearly  dinner 
time;  then  she  came  in  glowing  with  enthusiasm.  Her 
work  had  received  special  commendation  that  afternoon, 
and  she  had  been  asked  to  take  the  chairmanship  of  the 
committee  on  publicity.  Finding  that  her  husband  was 
at  home,  she  determined  to  tell  him  —  it  was  so  good  to 
be  doing  something  worth  while.  Perhaps,  too,  he  might 
be  made  to  show  some  interest.  She  thought  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Todd  and  the  old  dream  glowed  faintly  again. 

Cresswell  looked  at  her  as  she  entered  the  library  where 
he  was  waiting  and  smoking.  She  was  rumpled  and  muddy, 
with  flying  hair  and  thick  walking  shoes  and  the  air  of 
bustle  and  vigor  which  had  crept  into  her  blood  this  last 
month.  Truly,  her  cheeks  were  glowing  and  her  eyes 
bright,  but  he  disapproved.  Softness  and  daintiness, 
silk  and  lace  and  glimmering  flesh,  belonged  to  women 
in  his  mind,  and  he  despised  Amazons  and  "  business  " 
women.  He  received  her  kiss  coldly,  and  Mary's  heart 
sank.  She  essayed  some  gay  greeting,  but  he  interrupted 
her. 

"What's  this  stuff  about  the  Civic  Club?"  he  began 
sharply. 

"  Stuff?  "  she  queried,  blankly. 

"  That 's  what  I  said." 

"  I  'm  sure  I  do  n't  know,"  she  answered  stiffly.  "  I 
belong  to  the  Civic  Club,  and  have  been  working  with  it." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me?"  His  resentment  grew  as 
he  proceeded. 

"  I  did  not  think  you  were  interested." 

"  Did  n't  you  know  that  this  Child  Labor  business  was 
opposed  to  my  interests  ?  " 


THE  ANNUNCIATION  311 

"  Dear,  I  did  not  dream  it.  It >s  a  Republican  bill, 
to  be  sure;  but  you  seemed  very  friendly  with  Senator 
Smith,  who  introduced  it.  We  were  simply  trying  to 
improve  it." 

"  Suppose  we  did  n't  want  it  improved." 

"  That 's  what  some  said ;  but  I  did  not  believe  such  — 
deception." 

The  blood  rushed  to  Cresswell's  face. 

"Well,  you  will  drop  this  bill  and  the  Civic  Club  from 
now  on." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  say  so,"  he  retorted  explosively,  too  angry 
to  explain  further. 

She  looked  at  him  —  a  long,  fixed,  penetrating  look 
which  revealed  more  than  she  had  ever  seen  before,  then 
turned  away  and  went  slowly  up-stairs.  She  did  not 
come  down  to  dinner,  and  in  the  evening  the  doctor  was 
called. 

Cresswell  drooped  a  bit  after  eating,  hesitated,  and 
reflected.  He  had  acted  too  cavalierly  in  this  Civic  Club 
mess,  he  concluded,  and  yet  he  would  not  back  down. 
He  'd  go  see  her  and  pet  her  a  bit,  but  be  firm. 

He  opened  her  boudoir  door  gently,  and  she  stood 
before  him  radiant,  clothed  in  silk  and  lace,  her  hair 
loosened.  He  paused,  astonished.  But  she  threw  her 
self  upon  his  neck,  with  a  joyful,  half  hysterical  cry. 

"  I  will  give  it  all  up  —  everything !  Willingly,  will 
ingly  ! "  Her  voice  dropped  abruptly  to  a  tremulous 
whisper.  "  Oh,  Harry !  I  —  I  am  to  be  the  mother  of  a 
child!" 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
A  MASTER  OF  FATE 

THERE  is  not  the  slightest  doubt,  Miss  Wynn," 
Senator  Smith  was  saying,  "  but  that  the  schools 
of  the  District  will  be  reorganized." 

"And  the  Board  of  Education  abolished?"  she  added. 

"  Yes.  The  power  will  be  delegated  to  a  single  white 
superintendent." 

The  vertical  line  in  Caroline  Wynn's  forehead  became 
pronounced. 

"Whose  work  is  this,  Senator?"  she  asked. 

"  Well,  there  are,  of  course,  various  parties  back  of 
the  change :  the  c  outs,'  the  reformers,  the  whole  tendency 
to  concentrate  responsibility,  and  so  on.  But,  frankly, 
the  deciding  factor  was  the  demand  of  the  South." 

"  Is  there  anything  in  Washington  that  the  South  does 
not  already  own  ?  " 

Senator  Smith  smiled  thinly. 

*  Not  much,"  drily ;  "  but  we  own  the  South." 

"  And  part  of  the  price  is  putting  the  colored  schools 
of  the  District  in  the  hands  of  a  Southern  man  and  de 
priving  us  of  all  voice  in  their  control  ?  " 

"  Precisely,  Miss  Wynn.  But  you  'd  be  surprised  to 
know  that  it  was  the  Negroes  themselves  who  stirred  the 
South  to  this  demand." 

[312] 


A  MASTER  OF  FATE  313 

"  Not  at  all ;  you  mean  the  colored  newspapers,  I  pre 
sume." 

"  The  same,  with  TeerswelPs  clever  articles ;  then  his 
partner  Stillings  worked  the  '  impudent  Negro  teacher  ' 
argument  on  Cresswell  until  Cresswell  was  wild  to  get 
the  South  in  control  of  the  schools." 

"But  what  do  Teerswell  and  Stillings  want?" 

"  They  want  Bles  Alwyn  to  make  a  fool  of  himself." 

"  That  is  a  trifle  cryptic,"  Miss  Wynn  mused.  The 
Senator  amplified. 

"  We  are  giving  the  South  the  Washington  schools 
and  killing  the  Education  Bill  in  return  for  their  sup 
port  of  some  of  our  measures  and  their  assent  to  Alwyn's 
appointment.  You  see  I  speak  frankly." 

"  I  can  stand  it,   Senator." 

"  I  believe  you  can.  Well,  now,  if  Alwyn  should  act 
unwisely  and  offend  the  South,  somebody  else  stands  in 
line  for  the  appointment." 

"As  Treasurer?  "  she  asked  in  surprise. 

"  Oh,  no,  they  are  too  shrewd  to  ask  that ;  it  would 
offend  their  backers,  or  shall  I  say  their  tools,  the 
Southerners.  No,  they  ask  only  to  be  Register  and  As 
sistant  Register  of  the  Treasury.  This  is  an  office  colored 
men  have  held  for  years,  and  it  is  quite  ambitious  enough 
for  them ;  so  Stillings  assures  Cresswell  and  his  friends." 

"  I  see,"  Miss  Wynn  slowly  acknowledged.  "  But  how 
do  they  hope  to  make  Mr.  Alwyn  blunder  ?  " 

"  Too  easily,  I  fear  —  unless  you  are  very  careful. 
Alwyn  has  been  working  like  a  beaver  for  the  National 
Educational  Bill.  He  's  been  in  to  see  me  several  times, 
as  you  probably  know.  His  heart  is  set  on  it.  He  re 
gards  its  passage  as  a  sort  of  vindication  of  his  defence 
of  the  party." 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  Yes." 

"  Now,  the  party  has  dropped  the  bill  for  good,  and 
Alwyn  does  n't  like  it.  If  he  should  attack  the  party  —  ': 

"  But  he  would  n't,"  cried  Miss  Wynn  with  a  start  that 
belied  her  conviction. 

"  Did  you  know  that  he  is  to  be  invited  to  make  the 
principal  address  to  the  graduates  of  the  colored  high- 
school?  " 

"  But  "  she  objected,  "  They  have  selected  Bishop  John 
son;  I  —  " 

"  I  know  you  did,"  laughed  the  Senator,  "  but  the 
Judge  got  orders  from  higher  up." 

"  Shrewd  Mr.  Teerswell,"  remarked  Miss  Wynn,  sagely, 

"  Shrewd  Mr.  Stillings,"  the  Senator  corrected ;  "  but 
perhaps  too  shrewd.  Suppose  Mr.  Alwyn  should  take 
this  occasion  to  make  a  thorough  defence  of  the  party?  " 

"But  — will  he?" 

"  That 's  where  you  come  in,"  Senator  Smith  pointed 
out,  rising,  "  and  the  real  reason  of  this  interview.  We  're 
depending  on  you  to  pull  the  party  out  of  an  awkward 
hole,"  and  he  shook  hands  with  his  caller. 

Miss  Wynn  walked  slowly  up  Pennsylvania  Avenue 
with  a  smile  on  her  face. 

"  I  did  not  give  him  the  credit,"  she  declared,  repeat 
ing  it ;  "I  did  not  give  him  the  credit.  Here  I  was, 
playing  an  alluring  game  on  the  side,  and  my  dear  Tom 
transforms  it  into  a  struggle  for  bread  and  butter;  for 
of  course,  if  the  Board  of  Education  goes,  I  lose  my 
place."  She  lifted  her  head  and  stared  along  the  avenue. 

A  bitterness  dawned  in  her  eyes.  The  whole  street 
was  a  living  insult  to  her.  Here  she  was,  an  American 
girl  by  birth  and  breeding,  a  daughter  of  citizens  who 
had  fought  and  bled  and  worked  for  a  dozen  generations 


A  MASTER  OF  FATE  315 

on  this  soil ;  yet  if  she  stepped  into  this  hotel  to  rest,  even 
with  full  purse,  she  would  be  politely  refused  accommo 
dation.  Should  she  attempt  to  go  into  this  picture  show 
she  would  be  denied  entrance.  She  was  thirsty  with  the 
walk;  but  at  yonder  fountain  the  clerk  would  roughly 
refuse  to  serve  her.  It  was  lunch  time;  there  was  no 
place  within  a  mile  where  she  was  allowed  to  eat.  The 
revolt  deepened  within  her.  Beyond  these  known  and 
definite  discriminations  lay  the  unknown  and  hovering. 
In  yonder  store  nothing  hindered  the  clerk  from  being 
exceptionally  pert;  on  yonder  street-car  the  conductor 
might  reserve  his  politeness  for  white  folk;  this  police 
man's  business  was  to  keep  black  and  brown  people  in  , 
their  places.  All  this  Caroline  Wynn  thought  of,  and  then  \ 
smiled. 

This  was  the  thing  poor  blind  Bles  was  trying  to  at 
tack  by  "appeals"  for  "justice."  Nonsense!  Does 
one  "  appeal  "  to  the  red-eyed  beast  that  throttles  him  ? 
No.  He  composes  himself,  looks  death  in  the  eye,  and 
speaks  softly,  on  the  chance.  Whereupon  Miss  Wynn 
composed  herself,  waved  gayly  at  a  passing  acquaintance, 
and  matched  some  ribbons  in  a  department  store.  The 
clerk  was  new  and  anxious  to  sell. 

Meantime  her  brain  was  busy.  She  had  a  hard  task 
before  her.  Alwyn's  absurd  conscience  and  Quixotic  ideas 
were  difficult  to  cope  with.  After  his  last  indiscreet  talk 
she  had  ventured  deftly  to  remonstrate,  and  she  well 
remembered  the  conversation. 

"  Was  n't  what  I  said  true?  "  he  had  asked. 

"  Perfectly.     Is  that  an  excuse  for  saying  it?  " 

"  The  facts  ought  to  be  known." 

"  Yes,  but  ought  you  to  tell  them?  " 

"If  not  I,  who?" 


316   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  Some  one  who  is  less  useful  elsewhere,  and  whom  I 
like  less." 

"  Carrie,"  he  had  been  intensely  earnest.  "  I  want  to 
do  the  best  thing,  but  I  'm  puzzled.  I  wonder  if  I  'm  sell 
ing  my  birthright  for  six  thousand  dollars  ?  " 

"  In  case  of  doubt,  do  it." 

"  But  there  's  the  doubt :  I  may  convert ;  I  may  open 
the  eyes  of  the  blind;  I  may  start  a  crusade  for  Negro 
rights." 

"  Don't  believe  it ;  it 's  useless ;  we  '11  never  get  our 
rights  in  this  land." 

"  You  don't  believe  that!  "  he  had  ejaculated,  shocked. 

Well,  she  must  begin  again.  As  she  had  hoped,  he 
was  waiting  for  her  when  she  reached  home.  She  wel 
comed  him  cordially,  made  a  little  music  for  him,  and 
served  tea. 

"  Bles,"  she  said,  "  the  Opposition  has  been  laying  a 
pretty  shrewd  trap  for  you." 

"What?"   he    asked    absently. 

"  They  are  going  to  have  you  chosen  as  High  School 
commencement  orator." 

"Me?     Stuff!" 

"  You  —  and  not  stuff,  but  '  Education  '  will  be  your 
natural  theme.  Indeed,  they  have  so  engineered  it  that  the 
party  chiefs  expect  from  you  a  defence  of  their  dropping 
of  the  Educational  Bill." 

"What!" 

"  Yes,  and  probably  your  nomination  will  come  before 
the  speech  and  confirmation  after." 

Bles  walked  the  floor  excitedly  for  a  while  and  then 
sat  down  and  smiled. 

"  It  was  a  shrewd  move,"  he  said ;  "  but  I  think  I 
thank  them  for  it." 


A  MASTER  OF  FATE  317 

"I  don't.    But  still, 

"  '  'T  is  the  sport  to  see  the  engineer  hoist 
by  his  own  petar.' ' 

Bles  mused  and  she  watched  him  covertly.  Suddenly 
she  leaned  over. 

"  Moreover,"  she  said,  "  about  that  same  date  I  'm  lia 
ble  to  lose  my  position  as  teacher." 

He  looked  at  her  quickly,  and  she  explained  the  com 
ing  revolution  in  school  management. 

He  did  not  discuss  the  matter,  and  she  was  equally 
reticent ;  but  when  he  entered  the  doors  of  his  lodging- 
place  and,  gathering  his  mail,  slowly  mounted  the  stairs, 
there  came  the  battle  of  his  life. 

He  knew  it  and  he  tried  to  wage  it  coolly  and  with 
method.  He  arrayed  the  arguments  side  by  side:  on 
this  side  lay  success;  the  greatest  office  ever  held  by  a 
Negro  in  America  —  greater  than  Douglass  or  Bruce  or 
Lynch  had  held  —  a  landmark,  a  living  example  and 
inspiration.  A  man  owed  the  world  success;  there  were 
plenty  who  could  fail  and  stumble  and  give  multiple 
excuses.  Should  he  be  one?  He  viewed  the  other  side. 
What  must  he  pay  for  success  ?  Aye,  face  it  boldly  — 
what?  Mechanically  he  searched  for  his  mail  and  undid  the 
latest  number  of  the  Colored  American.  He  was  sure  the 
answer  stood  there  in  Teerswell's  biting  vulgar  English. 
And  there  it  was,  with  a  cartoon: 

His  MASTER'S  VOICE 

Alwyn  is  Ordered  to  Eat  His  Words  or  Get  Out 
Watch  Him  Do  It  Gracefully 
The  Republican  Leaders,  etc. 

He  threw  down  his  paper,  and  the  hot  blood  sang  in  his 
ears.  The  sickening  thought  was  that  it  was  true.  If 


318    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

he  did  make  the  speech  demanded  it  would  be  like  a  dog 
obedient  to  his  master's  voice. 

The  cold  sweat  oozed  on  his  face;  throwing  up  the 
window,  he  drank  in  the  Spring  breeze,  and  stared  at  the 
city  he  once  had  thought  so  alluring.  Somehow  it  looked 
like  the  swamp,  only  less  beautiful;  he  stretched  his  arms 
and  his  lips  breathed  —  "  Zora !  " 

He  turned  hastily  to  his  desk  and  looked  at  the  other 
piece  of  mail  —  a  single  sealed  note  carefully  written 
on  heavy  paper.  He  did  not  recognize  the  handwriting. 
Then  his  mind  flew  off  again.  What  would  they  say  if 
he  failed  to  get  the  office?  How  they  would  silently  hoot 
and  jeer  at  the  upstart  who  suddenly  climbed  so  high 
and  fell.  And  Carrie  Wynn  —  poor  Carrie,  with  her 
pride  and  position  dragged  down  in  his  ruin:  how  would 
she  take  it?  He  writhed  in  soul.  And  yet,  to  be  a  man; 
to  say  calmly,  "  No  " ;  to  stand  in  that  great  audience  and 
say,  "  My  people  first  and  last  " ;  to  take  Carrie's  hand 
and  together  face  the  world  and  struggle  again  to  newer 
finer  triumphs  —  all  this  would  be  very  close  to  attain 
ment  of  the  ideal.  He  found  himself  staring  at  the  little 
letter.  Would  she  go?  Would  she,  could  she,  lay  aside 
her  pride  and  cynicism,  her  dainty  ways  and  little  extrava 
gances?  An  odd  fancy  came  to  him:  perhaps  the 
answer  to  the  riddle  lay  sealed  within  the  envelope  he 
fingered. 

He  opened  it.  Within  lay  four  lines  of  writing  —  no 
more  —  no  address,  no  signature ;  simply  the  words : 

"  It  matters  not  how  strait  the  gate, 

How  charged  with  punishment  the  scroll ; 
I  am  the  master  of  my  fate, 
I  am  the  captain  of  my  soul." 


A  MASTER  OF  FATE  319 

He  stared  at  the  lines.  Eleven  o'clock  —  twelve  — 
one  —  chimed  the  deep-voiced  clock  without,  before  Alwyn 
went  to  bed. 

Miss  Wynn  had  kept  a  vigil  almost  as  long.  She  knew 
that  Bles  had  influential  friends  who  had  urged  his  pre 
ferment;  it  might  be  wise  to  enlist  them.  Before  she 
fell  asleep  she  had  determined  to  have  a  talk  with  Mrs. 
Vanderpool.  She  had  learned  from  Senator  Smith  that 
the  lady  took  especial  interest  in  Alwyn. 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  heard  Miss  Wynn's  story  next  day 
with  some  inward  dismay.  Really  the  breadth  and  depth 
of  intrigue  in  this  city  almost  frightened  her  as  she  walked 
deeper  into  the  mire.  She  had  promised  Zora  that  Bles 
should  receive  his  reward  on  terms  which  would  not  wound 
his  manhood.  It  seemed  an  easy,  almost  an  obvious  thing, 
to  promise  at  the  time.  Yet  here  was  this  rather  un 
usual  young  woman  asking  Mrs.  Vanderpool  to  use  her 
influence  in  making  Alwyn  bow  to  the  yoke.  She  fenced 
for  time. 

"  But  I  do  not  know  Mr.  Alwyn." 

"  I  thought  you  did ;  you  recommended  him  highly." 

"  I  knew  of  him  slightly  in  the  South  and  I  have 
watched  his  career  here." 

"  It  would  be  too  bad  to  have  that  career  spoiled  now." 

"But  is  it  necessary?  Suppose  he  should  defend  the 
Education  Bill." 

"And  criticise  the  party?"  asked  Miss  Wynn.  "It 
would  take  strong  influence  to  pull  him  through." 

"  And  if  that  strong  influence  were  found?  "  said  Mrs. 
Vanderpool  thoughtfully. 

"  It  would  surely  involve  some  other  important  con 
cession  to  the  South." 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  looked  up,  and  an  interjection  hov- 


320    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

ered  on  her  lips.  Was  it  possible  that  the  price  of  Alwyn's 
manhood  would  be  her  husband's  appointment  to  Paris? 
And  if  it  were? 

"  I  '11  do  what  I  can,"  she  said  graciously ;  "  but  I  am 
afraid  that  will  not  be  much." 

Miss  Wynn  hesitated.  She  had  not  succeeded  even  in 
guessing  the  source  of  Mrs.  Vanderpool's  interest  in 
Alwyn,  and  without  that  her  appeal  was  but  blind  grop 
ing.  She  stopped  on  her  way  to  the  door  to  admire  a 
bronze  statuette  and  find  time  to  think. 

"  You  are  interested  in  bronzes  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Van- 
derpool. 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  'm  far  too  poor.  But  I  've  dabbled  a  bit 
in  sculpture." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  Mrs.  Vanderpool  revealed  a  mild  interest, 
and  Miss  Wynn  was  compelled  to  depart  with  little  en 
lightenment. 

On  the  way  up  town  she  concluded  that  there  was  but 
one  chance  of  success:  she  must  write  Alwyn's  speech. 
With  characteristic  decision  she  began  her  plans  at  once. 

"  What  will  you  say  in  your  speech  ?  "  she  asked  him 
that  night  as  he  rose  to  go. 

He  looked  at  her  and  she  wavered  slightly  under  his 
black  eyes.  The  fight  was  becoming  a  little  too  desper 
ate  even  for  her  steady  nerves. 

"  You  would  not  like  me  to  act  dishonestly,  would 
you?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  she  involuntarily  replied,  regretting  the  word  tne 
moment  she  had  uttered  it.  He  gave  her  one  of  his  rare 
sweet  smiles,  and,  rising,  before  she  realized  his  intent, 
he  had  kissed  her  hands  and  was  gone. 

She  asked  herself  why  she  had  been  so  foolish;  and 


A  MASTER  OF  FATE  321 

yet,  somehow,  sitting  there  alone  in  the  firelight,  she  felt 
glad  for  once  that  she  had  risen  above  intrigue.  Then 
she  sighed  and  smiled,  and  began  to  plot  anew.  Teerswell 
dropped  in  later  and  brought  his  friend,  Stillings.  They 
found  their  hostess  gay  and  entertaining. 

Miss  Wynn  gathered  books  about  her,  and  in  the  days 
of  April  and  May  she  and  Alwyn  read  up  on  education. 
He  marvelled  at  the  subtlety  of  her  mind,  and  she  at 
the  relentlessness  of  his.  They  were  very  near  each  other 
during  these  days,  and  yet  there  was  ever  something  be 
tween  them:  a  vision  to  him  of  dark  and  pleading  eyes 
that  he  constantly  saw  beside  her  cool,  keen  glance.  And 
he  to  her  was  always  two  men :  one  man  above  men,  whom 
she  could  respect  but  would  not  marry,  and  one  man 
like  all  men,  whom  she  would  marry  but  could  not  respect. 
His  devotion  to  an  ideal  which  she  thought  so  utterly 
unpractical,  aroused  keen  curiosity  and  admiration.  She 
was  sure  he  would  fail  in  the  end,  and  she  wanted  him 
to  fail;  and  somehow,  somewhere  back  beyond  herself, 
her  better  self  longed  to  find  herself  defeated;  to  see 
this  mind  stand  firm  on  principle,  under  circumstances 
where  she  believed  men  never  stood.  Deep  within  her 
she  discovered  at  times  a  passionate  longing  to  believe  in 
somebody;  yet  she  found  herself  bending  every  energy 
to  pull  this  man  down  to  the  level  of  time-servers,  and 
even  as  she  failed,  feeling  something  like  contempt  for  his 
stubbornness. 

The  great  day  came.  He  had  her  notes,  her  sugges 
tions,  her  hints,  but  she  had  no  intimation  of  what  he 
would  finally  say. 

"  Will  you  come  to  hear  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  she  murmured. 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  That  is  best,"  he  said,  and  then  he  added  slowly,  "  I 
would  not  like  you  ever  to  despise  me." 

She  answered  sharply :     "  I  want  to  despise  you !  " 

Did  he  understand?  She  was  not  sure.  She  was  sorry 
she  had  said  it;  but  she  meant  it  fiercely.  Then  he  left 
her,  for  it  was  already  four  in  the  afternoon  and  he 
spoke  at  eight. 

In  the  morning  she  came  down  early,  despite  some 
dawdling  over  her  toilet.  She  brought  the  morning  paper 
into  the  dining-room  and  sat  down  with  it,  sipping  her 
coffee.  She  leaned  back  and  looked  leisurely  at  the  head 
ings.  There  was  nothing  on  the  front  page  but  a  divorce, 
a  revolution,  and  a  new  Trust.  She  took  another  sip  of 
her  coffee,  and  turned  the  page.  There  it  was,  "  Colored 
High  Schools  Close  —  Vicious  Attack  on  Republican 
Party  by  Negro  Orator." 

She  laid  the  paper  aside  and  slowly  finished  her  coffee. 
A  few  minutes  later  she  went  to  her  desk  and  sat  there 
so  long  that  she  started  at  hearing  the  clock  strike  nine. 

The  day  passed.  When  she  came  home  from  school 
she  bought  an  evening  paper.  She  was  not  surprised  to 
learn  that  the  Senate  had  rejected  Alwyn's  nomination; 
that  Samuel  Stillings  had  been  nominated  and  confirmed 
as  Register  of  the  Treasury,  and  that  Mr.  Tom  Teers- 
well  was  to  be  his  assistant.  Also  the  bill  reorganizing 
the  school  board  had  passed.  She  wrote  two  notes  and 
posted  them  as  she  went  out  to  walk. 

When  she  reached  home  Stillings  was  there,  and  they 
talked  earnestly.  The  bell  rang  violently.  Teerswell 
rushed  in. 

"  Well,  Carrie !  "  he  cried  eagerly. 

"  Well,  Tom,"  she  responded,  giving  him  a  languid  hand. 
Stillings  rose  and  departed.  Teerswell  nodded  and  said: 


A  MASTER  OF  FATE 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  last  night?  " 

"  A  great  speech,  I  hear." 

"  A  fool  speech  —  that  speech  cost  him,  I  calculate, 
between  twenty-four  and  forty-eight  thousand  dollars." 

"  Possibly  he  's  satisfied  with  his  bargain." 

"Possibly.     Are  you?" 

"With  his   bargain?"  quickly.      "Yes." 

"  No,"  he  pressed  her,  "  with  your  bargain  ?  " 

"  What  bargain  ?  "   she  parried. 

"To  marry  him." 

"Oh,  no;  that's  off." 

"  Is  it  off?  "  cried  Teerswell  delightedly.  "  Good!  It 
was  foolish  from  the  first  —  that  black  country  — 

"  Gently,"  Miss  Wynn  checked  him.  "  I  'm  not  yet 
over  the  habit." 

"  Come.  See  what  I  've  bought.  You  know  I  have  a 
salary  now."  He  produced  a  ring  with  a  small  diamond 
cluster. 

"  How  pretty !  "  she  said,  taking  it  and  looking  at  it. 
Then  she  handed  it  back. 

He  laughed  gayly.  "  It 's  yours,  Carrie.  You  're  going 
to  marry  me." 

She  looked  at  him  queerly. 

"  Am  I  ?    But  I  've  got  another  ring  already,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  send  Alwyn's  back." 

"  I  have.  This  is  still  another."  And  uncovering  her 
hand  she  showed  a  ring  with  a  large  and  beautiful  dia 
mond. 

He  rose.  "  Whose  is  that  ?  "  he  demanded  apprehen 
sively. 

"  Mine  —  "  her  eyes  met  his. 

"  But  who  gave  it  to  you  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Stillings,"  was  the  soft  reply. 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

He  stared  at  her  helplessly.  "I  —  I  —  don't  under 
stand  !  "  he  stammered. 

"  Well,  to  be  brief,  I  'm  engaged  to  Mr.  Stillings." 

"What!     To  that  flat-headed  —  " 

"  No,"  she  coolly  interrupted,  "  to  the  Register  of  the 
Treasury." 

The  man  was  too  dumbfounded,  too  overwhelmed  for 
coherent  speech. 

"  But  —  but  —  come ;  why  in  God's  name  —  will  you 
throw  yourself  away  on  —  on  such  a  —  you're  joking 
—  you  —  " 

She  motioned  him  to  a  chair.  He  obeyed  like  one  in 
a  trance. 

"  Now,  Tom,  be  calm.  When  I  was  a  baby  I  loved 
you,  but  that  is  long  ago.  To-day,  Tom,  you  're  an 
insufferable  cad  and  I  —  well,  I  'm  too  much  like  you 
to  have  two  of  us  in  the  same  family." 

"  But,  Stillings ! "  he  burst  forth,  almost  in  tears. 
"  The  snake  —  what  is  he?  " 

"  Nearly  as  bad  as  you,  I  '11  admit ;  but  he  has  four 
thousand  a  year  and  sense  enough  to  keep  it.  In  truth, 
I  need  it;  for,  thanks  to  your  political  activity,  my  own 
position  is  gone." 

"  But  he  's  a  —  a  damned  rascal !  "  Wounded  self-con 
ceit  was  now  getting  the  upper  hand. 

She  laughed. 

"  I  think  he  is.  But  he  's  such  an  exceptional  rascal ; 
he  appeals  to  me.  You  know,  Tom,  we  're  all  more  or 
less  rascally  —  except  one." 

"Except  who?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"  Bles  Alwyn." 

"The  fool!" 

"  Yes,"  she  slowly  agreed.     "  Bles  Alwyn,  the  Fool  — 


A  MASTER  OF  FATE  825 

and  the  Man.  But  by  grace  of  the  Negro  Problem,  I 
cannot  afford  to  marry  a  man  —  Hark !  some  one  is  on 
the  steps.  I  'm  sure  it 's  Bles.  You  'd  better  go  now. 
Don't  attempt  to  fight  with  him ;  he  's  very  strong.  Good 
night." 

Alwyn  entered.  He  did  n't  notice  Teerswell  as  he  passed 
out.  He  went  straight  to  Miss  Wynn  holding  a  crumpled 
note,  and  his  voice  faltered  a  little. 

"  Do  you  mean  it?  " 

"  Yes,  Bles." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  am  selfish  and  —  small." 

"  No,  you  are  not.  You  want  to  be ;  but  give  it  up, 
Carrie ;  it  is  n't  worth  the  cost.  Come,  let 's  be  honest 
and  poor  —  and  free." 

She  regarded  him  a  moment,  searchingly,  then  a  look 
half  quizzical,  half  sorrowful  came  into  her  eyes.  She  put 
both  her  hands  on  his  shoulders  and  said  as  she  kissed 
his  lips: 

"  Bles,  almost  thou  persuadest  me  —  to  be  a  fool.  Now 
go." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE  RETURN  OF  ZORA 

I  NEVER  realized  before  just  what  a  lie  meant,"  said 
Zora. 

The  paper  in  Mrs.  Vanderpool's  hands  fell  quickly 
quickly  to  her  lap,  and  she  gazed  across  the  toilet-table. 

As  she  gazed  that  odd  mirage  of  other  days  haunted 
her  again.  She  did  not  seem  to  see  her  maid,  nor  the 
white  and  satin  morning-room.  She  saw,  with  some  long 
inner  sight,  a  vast  hall  with  mighty  pillars;  a  smooth, 
marbled  floor  and  a  great  throng  whose  silent  eyes  looked 
curiously  upon  her.  Strange  carven  beasts  gazed  on  from 
a  setting  of  rich,  barbaric  splendor  and  she  herself  —  the 
Liar  —  lay  in  rags  before  the  gold  and  ivory  of  that 
lofty  throne  whereon  sat  Zora,. 

The  foolish  phantasy  passed  with  the  second  of  time 
that  brought  it,  and  Mrs.  Vanderpool's  eyes  dropped 
again  to  her  paper,  to  those  lines, — 

"  The  President  has  sent  the  following  nominations  to 
the  Senate  .  .  .  To  be  ambassador  to  France,  John 
Vanderpool,  Esq." 

The  first  feeling  of  triumph  thrilled  faintly  again  un 
til  the  low  voice  of  Zora  startled  her.  It  was  so  low  and 
calm,  it  came  as  though  journeying  from  great  distances 
and  weary  with  travel. 

[326  ] 


THE  RETURN  OF  ZORA  327 

"  I  used  to  think  a  lie  a  little  thing,  a  convenience ; 
but  now  I  see.  It  is  a  great  No  and  it  kills  things.  You 
remember  that  day  when  Mr.  Easterly  called?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Vanderpool,  faintly. 

"  I  heard  all  he  said.  I  could  not  help  it ;  my  transom 
was  open.  And  then,  too,  after  he  mentioned  —  Mr. 
Alwyn's  name,  I  wanted  to  hear.  I  knew  that  his  ap 
pointment  would  cost  you  the  embassy  —  unless  Bles  was 
tempted  and  should  fall.  So  I  came  to  you  to  say  — 
to  say  you  must  n't  pay  the  price." 

"  And  I  lied,"  said  Mrs.  Vanderpool.  "  I  told  you 
that  he  should  be  appointed  and  remain  a  man.  I  meant 
to  make  him  see  that  he  could  yield  without  great  cost. 
But  I  let  you  think  I  was  giving  up  the  embassy  when  I 
never  intended  to." 

She  spoke  coldly,  yet  Zora  knew.  She  reached  out  and 
took  the  white,  still  hands  in  hers,  and  over  the  lady's 
face  again  flitted  that  stricken  look  of  age. 

"  I  do  not  blame  you,"  said  Zora  gently.  "  I  blame 
the  world." 

"  I  am  the  world,"  Mrs.  Vanderpool  uttered  harshly, 
then  suddenly  laughed.  But  Zora  went  on: 

"  It  bewildered  me  when  I  first  read  the  news  early 
this  morning ;  the  world  —  everything  —  seemed  wrong. 
You  see,  my  plan  was  all  so  splendid.  Just  as  I  turned 
away  from  him,  back  to  my  people,  I  was  to  help  him  to 
the  highest.  I  was  so  afraid  he  would  miss  it  and  think 
that  Right  did  n't  win  in  Life,  that  I  wrote  him  - 

"  You  wrote  him?    So  did  I." 

Zora  glanced  at  her  quickly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Vanderpool.  "  I  thought  I  knew 
him.  He  seemed  an  ordinary,  rather  priggish,  opin 
ionated  country  boy,  and  I  wrote  and  said  —  Oh,  I  said 


328    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

that  the  world  is  the  world;  take  it  as  it  is.  You  wrote 
differently,  and  he  obeyed  you." 

"  No;  he  did  not  know  it  was  I.  I  was  just  a  Voice 
from  nowhere  calling  to  him.  I  thought  I  was  right. 
I  wrote  each  day,  sometimes  twice,  sending  bits  of  verse, 
quotations,  references,  all  saying  the  same  thing:  Right 
always  triumphs.  But  it  doesn't,  does  it?" 

"  No.     It  never  does  save  by  accident." 

"  I  do  not  think  that  is  quite  so,"  Zora  pondered  aloud, 
"  and  I  am  a  little  puzzled.  I  do  not  belong  in  this  world 
where  Right  and  Wrong  get  so  mixed.  With  us  yonder 
there  is  wrong,  but  we  call  it  wrong  —  mostly.  Oh,  I 
don't  know;  even  there  things  are  mixed."  She  looked 
sadly  at  Mrs.  Vanderpool,  and  the  fear  that  had  been 
hovering  behind  her  mistress's  eyes  became  visible. 

"  It  was  so  beautiful,"  said  Zora,  "  I  expected  a  great 
thing  of  you  —  a  sacrifice.  I  do  not  blame  you  because 
you  could  not  do  it ;  and  yet  —  yet,  after  this, —  don't 
you  see?  —  I  cannot  stay  here." 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  arose  and  walked  over  to  her.  She 
stood  above  her,  in  her  silken  morning-gown,  her  brown 
and  gray  sprinkled  hair  rising  above  the  pale,  strong- 
lined  face. 

"Zora,"  she  faltered,  "will  you  leave  me?" 

Zora  answered,  "  Yes."  It  was  a  soft  "  yes,"  a  "  yes  " 
full  of  pity  and  regret,  but  a  "  yes  "  that  Mrs.  Vander 
pool  knew  in  her  soul  to  be  final. 

She  sat  down  again  on  the  lounge  and  her  fingers  crept 
along  the  cushions. 

"  Ambassadorships  come  —  high,"  she  said  with  a  catch 
in  her  voice.  Then  after  a  pause :  "  When  will  you 
go,  Zora?" 


THE  RETURN  OF  ZORA  329 

"  When  you  leave  for  the  summer." 

Mrs.  Vandexpool  looked  out  upon  the  beautiful  city. 
She  was  a  little  surprised  at  herself.  She  had  found 
herself  willing  to  sacrifice  almost  anything  for  Zora.  No 
living  soul  had  ever  raised  in  her  so  deep  an  affection, 
and  yet  she  knew  now  that,  although  the  cost  was  great, 
she  was  willing  to  sacrifice  Zora  for  Paris.  After  all,  it 
was  not  too  late;  a  rapid  ride  even  now  might  secure 
high  office  for  Alwyn  and  make  Cresswell  ambassador. 
It  would  be  difficult  but  possible.  But  she  had  not  the 
slightest  inclination  to  attempt  it,  and  she  said  aloud, 
half  mockingly : 

"  You  are  right,  Zora.  I  promised  —  and  —  I  lied. 
Liars  have  no  place  in  heaven  and  heaven  is  doubtless  a 
beautiful  place  —  but  oh,  Zora !  you  have  n't  seen  Paris !  " 

Two  months  later  they  parted  simply,  knowing  well 
it  was  forever.  Mrs.  Vanderpool  wrote  a  check. 

"  Use  this  in  your  work,"  she  said.  "  Miss  Smith  asked 
for  it  long  ago.  It  is  —  my  campaign  contribution." 

Zora  smiled  and  thanked  her.  As  she  put  the  sealed 
envelope  in  her  trunk  her  hand  came  in  contact  with  a 
long  untouched  package.  Zora  took  it  out  silently  and 
opened  it  and  the  beauty  of  it  lightened  the  room. 

"  It  is  the  Silver  Fleece,"  said  Zora,  and  Mrs.  Van 
derpool  kissed  her  and  went. 

Zora  walked  alone  to  the  vaulted  station.  She  did  not 
try  to  buy  a  Pullman  ticket,  although  the  journey  was 
thirty-six  hours.  She  knew  it  would  be  difficult  if  not 
impossible  and  she  preferred  to  share  the  lot  of  her  peo 
ple.  Once  on  the  foremost  car,  she  leaned  back  and 
looked.  The  car  seemed  clean  and  comfortable  but 
strangely  short.  Then  she  realized  that  half  of  it  was 


330   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

cut  off  for  the  white  smokers  and  as  the  door  swung 
whiffs  of  the  smoke  came  in.  But  she  was  content  for  she 
was  almost  alone. 

It  was  eighteen  little  months  ago  that  she  had  ridden 
up  to  the  world  with  widening  eyes.  In  that  time  what 
had  happened?  Everything.  How  well  she  remembered 
her  coming,  the  first  reflection  of  yonder  gilded  dome 


and  the  soaring  of  the  capitol;\the  swelling  of  her  heart, 
with  inarticulate  wonder;  the  pain  of  the  thirst  to  know 
and  understand.  She  did  not  know  much  now  but  she 
had  learned  how  to  find  things  out.  She  did  not  under 
stand  all,  but  some  things  she  —  } 

"  Ticket  "  —  the  tone  was  harsh  and  abrupt.  Zora 
started.  She  had  always  noted  how  polite  conductors 
were  to  her  and  Mrs.  Vanderpool  —  was  it  simply  because 
Mrs.  Vanderpool  was  evidently  a  great  and  rich  lady? 
She  held  up  her  ticket  and  he  snatched  it  from  her  mut 
tering  some  direction. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Change  at  Charlotte,"  he  snapped  as  he  went  on. 

It  seemed  to  Zora  that  his  discourtesy  was  almost 
forced :  that  he  was  afraid  he  might  be  betrayed  into  some 
show  of  consideration  for  a  black  woman,  i  She  felt  no 
anger,  she  simply  wondered  what  he  f eared.  |  The  in 
creasing  smell  of  tobacco  smoke  started  her  coughing. 
She  turned.  To  be  sure.  Not  only  was  the  door  to  the 
smoker  standing  open,  but  a  white  passenger  was  in  her 
car,  sitting  by  the  conductor  and  puffing  heartily.  As 
the  black  porter  passed  her  she  said  gently : 

"  Is  smoking  allowed  in  here  ?  " 

"  It  ain't  none  o'  my  business,"  he  flung  back  at  her 
and  moved  away.  All  day  white  men  passed  back  and 


THE  RETURN  OF  ZORA  331 

forward  through  the  car  as  through  a  thoroughfare. 
They  talked  loudly  and  laughed  and  joked,  and  if  they 
did  not  smoke  they  carried  their  lighted  cigars.  At  her 
they  stared  and  made  comments,  and  one  of  them  came 
and  lounged  almost  over  her  seat,  inquiring  where  she 
was  going. 

She  did  not  reply;  she  neither  looked  nor  stirred,  but 
kept  whispering  to  herself  with  something  like  awe: 
"  This  is  what  they  must  endure  —  my  poor  people !  " 

At  Lynchburg  a  newsboy  boarded  the  train  with  his 
wares.  The  conductor  had  already  appropriated  two 
seats  for  himself,  and  the  newsboy  routed  out  two  colored 
passengers,  and  usurped  two  other  seats.  Then  he  began 
to  be  especially  annoying.  He  joked  and  wrestled  with 
the  porter,  and  on  every  occasion  pushed  his  wares  at 
Zora,  insisting  on  her  buying. 

"Ain't  you  got  no  money?"  he  asked.  "Where  you 
going?  " 

"  Say,"  he  whispered  another  time,  "  don't  you  want 
to  buy  these  gold  spectacles?  I  found  'em  and  I  dassen't 
sell  'em  open,  see?  They  're  worth  ten  dollars  —  take  'em 
for  a  dollar." 

Zora  sat  still,  keeping  her  eyes  on  the  window ;  but  her 
hands  worked  nervously,  and  when  he  threw  a  book  with 
a  picture  of  a  man  and  half-dressed  woman  directly  under 
her  eyes,  she  took  it  and  dropped  it  out  of  the  window. 

The  boy  started  to  storm  and  demanded  pay,  while 
the  conductor  glared  at  her;  but  a  white  man  in  the 
conductor's  seat  whispered  something,  and  the  row  sud 
denly  stopped. 

A  gang  of  colored  section  hands  got  on,  dirty  and 
loud.  They  sprawled  about  and  smoked,  drank,  and 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

bought  candy  and  cheap  gewgaws.  They  eyed  her 
respectfully,  and  with  one  of  them  she  talked  a  little  as 
he  awkwardly  fingered  his  cap. 

As  the  day  wore  on  Zora  found  herself  strangely  weary. 
It  was  not  simply  the  unpleasant  things  that  kept  hap 
pening,  but  the  continued  apprehension  of  unknown  pos 
sibilities.  Then,  too,  she  began  to  realize  that  she  had 
had  nothing  to  eat.  Travelling  with  Mrs.  Vanderpool 
there  was  always  a  dainty  lunch  to  be  had  at  call.  She 
did  not  expect  this,  but  she  asked  the  porter: 

"  Do  you  know  where  I  can  get  a  lunch?  " 

"  Search  me,"  he  answered,  lounging  into  a  seat.  "  Ain't 
no  chance  betwixt  here  and  Danville  as  I  knows  on." 

Zora  viewed  her  plight  with  a  certain  dismay  —  twelve 
hours  without  food!  How  foolish  of  her  not  to  have 
thought  of  this.  The  hours  passed.  She  turned  desper 
ately  to  the  gruff  conductor. 

"  Could  I  buy  a  lunch  from  the  dining-car? "  she 
inquired. 

"  No,"  was  the  curt  reply. 

She  made  herself  as  comfortable  as  she  could,  and  tried 
to  put  the  matter  from  her  mind.  She  remembered  how, 
forgotten  years  ago,  she  had  often  gone  a  day  without  eat 
ing  and  thought  little  of  it.  Night  came  slowly,  and  she 
fell  to  dreaming  until  the  cry  came,  "  Charlotte !  Change 
cars !  "  She  scrambled  out.  There  was  no  step  to  the 
platform,  her  bag  was  heavy,  and  the  porter  was  busy 
helping  the  white  folks  to  alight.  She  saw  a  dingy  lunch 
room  marked  "  Colored,"  but  she  had  no  time  to  go  to  it 
for  her  train  was  ready. 

There  was  another  colored  porter  on  this,  and  he  was 
very  polite  and  affable. 


THE  RETURN  OF  ZORA  333 

"  Yes,  Miss ;  certainly  I  '11  fetch  you  a  lunch  * —  plenty 
of  time."  And  he  did.  It  did  not  look  clean  but  Zora 
was  ravenous. 

The  white  smoker  now  had  few  occupants,  but  the 
white  train  crew  proceeded  to  use  the  colored  coach  as 
a  lounging-room  and  sleeping-car.  There  was  no  passen 
ger  except  Zora.  They  took  off  their  coats,  stretched 
themselves  on  the  seats,  and  exchanged  jokes  ;  but  Zora  was 
too  tired  to  notice  much,  and  she  was  dozing  wearily  when 
she  felt  a  touch  on  the  arm  and  found  the  porter  in  the 
seat  beside  her  with  his  arm  thrown  familiarly  behind  her 
along  the  top  of  the  back.  She  rose  abruptly  to  her  feet 
and  he  started  up. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  he  said,  grinning. 

Zora  sat  slowly  down  as  he  got  up  and  left.  She  de 
termined  to  sleep  no  more.  Yet  a  vast  vision  sank  on 
her  weary  spirit  —  the  vision  of  a  dark  cloud  that 
dropped  and  dropped  upon  her,  and  lay  as  lead  along 
her  straining  shoulders.  She  must  lift  it,  she  knew,  though 
it  were  big  as  a  world,  and  she  put  her  strength  to  it  and 
groaned  as  the  porter  cried  in  the  ghostly  morning  light: 

"Atlanta!     All  change!" 

Away  yonder  at  the  school  near  Toomsville,  Miss  Smith 
sat  waiting  for  the  coming  of  Zora,  absently  attending 
the  duties  of  the  office.  Dark  little  heads  and  hands 
bobbed  by  and  soft  voices  called: 

"  Miss  Smith,  I  wants  a  penny  pencil." 

"Miss  Smith,  is  yo'  got  a  speller  fo'  ten  cents?" 

"  Miss  Smith,  mammy  say  please  lemme  come  to  school 
this  week  and  she  '11  sho'  pay  Sata'day." 

Yet  the  little  voices  that  summoned  her  back  to  earth 
were  less  clamorous  than  in  other  years,  for  the  school 


334   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

was  far  from  full,  and  Miss  Smith  observed  the  falling 
off  with  grave  eyes.  This  condition  was  patently  the 
result  of  the  cotton  corner  and  the  subsequent  manipula 
tion.  When  cotton  rose,  the  tenants  had  already  sold 
their  cotton;  when  cotton  fell  the  landlords  squeezed  the 
rations  and  lowered  the  wages.  When  cotton  rose  again, 
up  went  the  new  Spring  rent  contracts.  So  it  was  that 
the  bewildered  black  serf  dawdled  in  listless  inability  to 
understand.  The  Cresswells  in  their  new  wealth,  the  Max 
wells  and  Tollivers  in  the  new  pinch  of  poverty,  stretched 
long  arms  to  gather  in  the  tenants  and  their  children. 
Excuse  after  excuse  came  to  the  school. 

"  I  can't  send  the  chilluns  dis  term,  Miss  Smith ;  dey 
has  to  work." 

"  Mr.  Cresswell  won't  allow  Will  to  go  to  school  this 
term." 

"  Mr.  Tolliver  done  put  Sam  in  the  field." 

And  so  Miss  Smith  contemplated  many  empty  desks. 

Slowly  a  sort  of  fatal  inaction  seized  her.  The  school 
went  on;  daily  the  dark  little  cloud  of  scholars  rose  up 
from  hill  and  vale  and  settled  in  the  white  buildings;  the 
hum  of  voices  and  the  busy  movements  of  industrious 
teachers  filled  the  day;  the  office  work  went  on  methodi 
cally;  but  back  of  it  all  Miss  Smith  sat  half  hopeless. 
It  cost  five  thousand  a  year  to  run  the  school,  and  this  sum 
she  raised  with  increasingly  greater  difficulty.  Extra  and 
heart-straining  effort  had  been  needed  to  raise  the  eight 
hundred  dollars  additional  for  interest  money  on  the  mort 
gage  last  year.  Next  year  it  might  have  to  come  out  of 
the  regular  income  and  thus  cut  off  two  teachers.  Beyond 
all  this  the  raising  of  ten  thousand  dollars  to  satisfy  the 
mortgage  seemed  simply  impossible,  and  Miss  Smith  sat  in 
fatal  resignation,  awaiting  the  coming  day. 


THE  RETURN  OF  ZORA  335 

"  It 's  the  Lord's  work.  I  've  done  what  I  could.  I 
guess  if  He  wants  it  to  go  on,  He  '11  find  a  way.  And 
if  He  does  n't  —  "  She  looked  off  across  the  swamp  and 
was  silent. 

Then  came  Zora's  letter,  simple  and  brief,  but  breath 
ing  youth  and  strength  of  purpose.  Miss  Smith  seized 
upon  it  as  an  omen  of  salvation.  In  vain  her  shrewd  New 
England  reason  asked :  "  What  can  a  half-taught  black 
girl  do  in  this  wilderness?"  Her  heart  answered  back: 
"What  is  impossible  to  youth  and  resolution?"  Let  the 
shabbiness  increase;  let  the  debts  pile  up;  let  the  board 
ers  complain  and  the  teachers  gossip  —  Zora  was  com 
ing.  And  somehow  she  and  Zora  would  find  a  way. 

And  Zora  came  just  as  the  sun  threw  its  last  crimson 
through  the  black  swamp;  came  and  gathered  the  frail 
and  white-haired  woman  in  her  arms ;  and  they  wept  to 
gether.  Long  and  low  they  talked,  far  into  the  soft 
Southern  night;  sitting  shaded  beneath  the  stars,  while 
nearby  blinked  the  drowsy  lights  of  the  girls'  dormitory. 
At  last  Miss  Smith  said,  rising  stiffly: 

"  I  forgot  to  ask  about  Mrs.  Vanderpool.  How  is  she, 
and  where?  " 

Zora  murmured  some  answer;  but  as  she  went  to  bed 
in  her  little  white  room  she  sat  wondering  sadly.  Where 
was  the  poor  spoiled  woman?  Who  was  putting  her  to 
bed  and  smoothing  the  pillow?  Who  was  caring  for  her, 
and  what  was  she  doing?  And  Zora  strained  her  eyes 
Northward  through  the  night. 

At  this  moment,  Mrs.  Vanderpool,  rising  from  a 
gala  dinner  in  the  brilliant  drawing-room  of  her  Lake 
George  mansion,  was  reading  the  evening  paper  which 
her  husband  had  put  into  her  hands.  With  startled 
eyes  she  caught  the  impudent  headlines : 


336    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

VANDEEPOOL   DROPPED 

Senate  Refuses  to  Confirm 

Todd  Insurgents  Muster  Enough  Votes  to  Defeat 

Confirmation  of  President's  Nominee 

Rumored  Revenge  for  Machine's  Defeat  of  Child  Labor 

Bill  Amendment. 

The  paper  trembled  in  her  jewelled  hands.  She  glanced 
down  the  column. 

"Todd  asks:  Who  is  Vanderpool,  anyhow?  Wlmt 
did  he  ever  do?  He  is  known  only  as  a  selfish  millionaire 
who  thinks  more  of  horses  than  of  men." 

Carelessly  Mrs.  Vanderpool  threw  the  paper  to  the 
floor  and  bit  her  lips  as  the  angry  blood  dyed  her  face. 

"  They  shall  confirm  him,"  she  whispered,  "  if  I  have 
to  mortgage  my  immortal  soul !  "  And  she  rang  up  long 
distance  on  the  telephone. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 
A  PARTING  OF  WAYS 

WAS  the  child  born  dead?  " 
"Worse  than  dead!" 

Somehow,  somewhere,  Mary  Cresswell  had 
heard  these  words ;  long,  long,  ago,  down  there  in  the  great 
pain-swept  shadows  of  utter  agony,  where  Earth  seemed 
slipping  its  moorings;  and  now,  to-day,  she  lay  repeat 
ing  them  mechanically,  grasping  vaguely  at  their  mean 
ing.  Long  she  had  wrestled  with  them  as  they  twisted 
and  turned  and  knotted  themselves,  and  she  worked  and 
toiled  so  hard  as  she  lay  there  to  make  the  thing  clear  — 
to  understand. 

"Was  the  child  born  dead?" 

"Worse  than  dead!" 

Then  faint  and  fainter  whisperings :  what  could  be  worse 
than  death?  She  had  tried  to  ask  the  grey  old  doctor, 
but  he  soothed  her  like  a  child  each  day  and  left  her  ly 
ing  there.  To-day  she  was  stronger,  and  for  the  first 
time  sitting  up,  looking  listlessly  out  across  the  world  — 
a  queer  world.  Why  had  they  not  let  her  see  the  child  — 
just  one  look  at  its  little  dead  face?  That  would  have 
been  something.  And  again,  as  the  doctor  cheerily  turned 
to  go,  she  sought  to  repeat  the  old  question.  He  looked 
at  her  sharply,  then  interrupted,  saying  kindly: 

[337] 


338    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  There,  now ;  you  've  been  dreaming.  You  must  rest 
quietly  now."  And  with  a  nod  he  passed  into  the  other 
room  to  talk  with  her  husband. 

She  was  not  satisfied.  She  had  not  been  dreaming. 
She  would  tell  Harry  to  ask  him  —  she  did  not  often  see 
her  husband,  but  she  must  ask  him  now  and  she  arose 
unsteadily  and  swayed  noiselessly  across  the  floor.  A 
moment  she  leaned  against  the  door,  then  opened  it 
slightly.  From  the  other  side  the  words  came  distinctly 
and  clearly: 

"  —  other  children,  doctor?  " 

"  You  must  have  no  other  children,  Mr.  Cresswell." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  the  sins  of  the  fathers  are  visited  upon  the 
children  unto  the  third  and  fourth  generation." 

Slowly,  softly,  she  crept  away.  Her  mind  seemed  very 
clear.  And  she  began  a  long  journey  to  reach  her  win 
dow  and  chair  —  a  long,  long  j  ourney ;  but  at  last  she 
sank  into  the  chair  again  and  sat  dry-eyed,  wondering 
who  had  conceived  this  world  and  made  it,  and  why. 

A  long  time  afterward  she  found  herself  lying  in  bed, 
awake,  conscious,  clear-minded.  Yet  she  thought  as  little 
as  possible,  for  that  little  was  pain;  but  she  listened 
gladly,  for  without  she  heard  the  solemn  beating  of  the 
sea,  the  mighty  rhythmic  beating  of  the  sea.  Long  days 
she  lay,  and  sat  and  walked  beside  those  vast  and  speak 
ing  waters,  till  at  last  she  knew  their  voice  and  they  spoke 
to  her  and  the  sea-calm  soothed  her  soul. 

For  one  brief  moment  of  her  life  she  saw  herself  clearly : 
a  well-meaning  woman,  ambitious,  but  curiously  narrow; 
not  willing  to  work  long  for  the  Vision,  but  leaping  at  it 
rashly,  blindly,  with  a  deep-seated  sense  of  duty  which 
she  made  a  source  of  offence  by  preening  and  parading 


A  PARTING  OF  WAYS  339 

it,  and  forcing  it  to  ill-timed  notice.  She  saw  that  she 
had  looked  on  her  husband  as  a  means  not  an  end.  She 
had  wished  to  absorb  him  and  his  work  for  her  own  glory. 
She  had  idealized  for  her  own  uses  a  very  human  man 
whose  life  had  been  full  of  sin  and  fault.  She  must  atone. 

No  sooner,  in  this  brief  moment,  did  she  see  herself 
honestly  than  her  old  habits  swept  her  on  tumultuously. 
No  ordinary  atonement  would  do.  The  sacrifice  must  be 
vast;  the  world  must  stand  in  wonder  before  this  clever 
woman  sinking  her  soul  in  another  and  raising  him  by 
sheer  will  to  the  highest. 

So  after  six  endless  months  Mary  Cresswell  walked  into, 
her  Washington  home  again.  She  knew  she  had  changed 
in  appearance,  but  she  had  forgotten  to  note  how  much 
until  she  saw  the  stare  —  almost  the  recoil  —  of  her  hus 
band,  the  muttered  exclamation,  the  studied,  almost  over 
done  welcome.  Then  she  went  up  to  her  mirror  and  looked 
long,  and  knew. 

She  was  strong;  she  felt  well;  but  she  was  slight,  al 
most  scrawny,  and  her  beauty  was  gone  forever.  It  had 
been  of  that  blonde  white-and-pink  type  that  fades  in  a 
flash,  and  its  going  left  her  body  flattened  and  angular, 
her  skin  drawn  and  dead  white,  her  eyes  sunken.  From 
the  radiant  girl  whom  Cresswell  had  met  three  years  earlier 
the  change  was  startling,  and  yet  the  contrast  seemed 
even  greater  than  it  was,  for  her  glory  then  had  been 
her  abundant  and  almost  golden  hair.  Now  that  hair  was 
faded,  and  falling  so  fast  that  at  last  the  doctor  advised 
her  to  cut  it  short.  This  left  her  ill-shaped  head  exposed 
and  emphasized  the  sunken  hollows  of  her  face.  She 
knew  that  she  was  changed  but  she  did  not  quite  realize 
how  changed,  until  now  as  she  stood  and  gazed. 

Yet   she   did   not   hesitate  but  from   that   moment   set 


340    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

herself  to  her  new  life  task.  Characteristically,  she  started 
dramatically  and  largely.  She  was  to  make  her  life  an 
endless  sacrifice ;  she  was  to  revivify  the  manhood  in  Harry 
Cresswell,  and  all  this  for  no  return,  no  partnership  of 
soul  —  all  was  to  be  complete  sacrifice  and  sinking  of 
soul  in  soul^ 

If  Mary  Cresswell  had  attempted  less  she  would  have 
accomplished  more.  As  it  was,  she  began  well;  she  went 
to  work  tactfully,  seeming  to  note  no  change  in  his  man 
ner  toward  her;  but  his  manner  had  changed.  He  was 
studiously,  scrupulously  polite  in  private,  and  in  public 
devoted;  but  there  was  no  feeling,  no  passion,  no  love. 
The  polished  shell  of  his  clan  reflected  conventional  light 
even  more  carefully  than  formerly  because  the  shell  was 
cold  and  empty.  There  were  no  little  flashes  of  anger  now, 
no  poutings  nor  sweet  reconciliations.  Life  ran  very 
smoothly  and  courteously;  and  while  she  did  not  try  to 
regain  the  affection,  she  strove  to  enthrall  his  intellect. 
She  supplied  a  sub-committee  upon  which  he  was  serving  — 
not  directly,  but  through  him  —  with  figures,  with  reports, 
books,  and  papers,  so  that  he  received  special  commenda 
tions;  a  praise  that  piqued  as  well  as  pleased  him,  be 
cause  it  implied  a  certain  surprise  that  he  was  able  to 
do  it. 

"The  damned  Yankees!"  he  sneered.  "They  think 
they  've  got  the  brains  of  the  nation." 

"  Why  not  make  a  speech  on  the  subject?  "  she  sug 
gested. 

He  laughed.  The  matter  under  discussion  was  the 
cotton-goods  schedule  of  the  new  tariff  bill,  about  which 
really  he  knew  a  little;  his  wife  placed  every  tempta 
tion  to  knowledge  before  him,  even  inspiring  Senator 
Smith  to  ask  him  to  defend  that  schedule  against  the  low- 


A  PARTING  OF  WAYS  341 

tariff  advocate.  Mary  Cresswell  worked  with  redoubled 
energy,  and  for  nearly  a  week  Harry  staid  at  home  nights 
and  studied.  Thanks  to  his  wife  the  speech  was  unusually 
informing  and  well  put,  and  the  fact  that  a  prominent 
free-trader  spoke  the  same  afternoon  gave  it  publicity, 
while  Mr.  Easterly  saw  to  the  press  despatches. 

Cresswell  subscribed  to  a  clipping-bureau  and  tasted 
the  sweets  of  dawning  notoriety,  and  Mrs.  Cresswell  ar 
ranged  a  select  dinner-party  which  included  a  cabinet 
officer,  a  foreign  ambassador,  two  millionaires,  and  the 
leading  Southern  Congressmen.  The  talk  came  around  to 
the  failure  of  the  Senate  to  confirm  Mr.  Vanderpool,  and 
it  was  generally  assumed  that  the  President  would  not 
force  the  issue. 

Who,  then,  should  be  nominated?  There  were  several 
suggestions,  but  the  knot  of  Southern  Congressmen  about 
Mrs.  Cresswell  declared  emphatically  that  it  must  be  a 
Southerner.  Not  since  the  war  had  a  prominent  South 
erner  represented  America  at  a  first-class  foreign  court; 
it  was  shameful ;  the  time  was  ripe  for  change.  But  who  ? 
Here  opinions  differed  widely.  Nearly  every  one  men 
tioned  a  candidate,  and  those  who  did  not  seemed  to 
refrain  from  motives  of  personal  modesty. 

Mary  Cresswell  sped  her  departing  guests  with  a  dis 
tinct  purpose  in  mind.  She  must  make  herself  leader 
of  the  Southern  set  in  Washington  and  concentrate  its 
whole  force  on  the  appointment  of  Harry  Cresswell  as 
ambassador  to  France.  Quick  reward  and  promotion 
were  essential  to  Harry's  success.  He  was  not  one  to 
keep  up  the  strain  of  effort  a  long  time.  Unless,  then, 
tangible  results  came  and  came  quickly,  he  was  liable  to 
relapse  into  old  habits.  Therefore  he  must  succeed  and 
succeed  at  once.  She  would  have  preferred  a  less  orna- 


342   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

mental  position  than  the  ambassadorship,  but  there  were 
no  other  openings.  The  Alabama  senators  were  firmly 
seated  for  at  least  four  years  and  the  Governorship  had 
been  carefully  arranged  for.  A  term  of  four  years  abroad, 
however,  might  bring  Harry  Cress  well  back  in  time  for 
greater  advancement.  At  any  rate,  it  was  the  only  tangi 
ble  offering,  and  Mary  Cresswell  silently  determined  to 
work  for  it. 

Here  it  was  that  she  made  her  mistake.  It  was  one 
thing  for  her  to  be  a  tactful  hostess,  pleasing  her  hus 
band  and  his  guests ;  it  was  another  for  her  to  aim  openly 
at  social  leadership  and  political  influence.  She  had  at 
first  all  the  insignia  of  success.  Her  dinners  became  of 
real  political  significance  and  her  husband  figured  more 
and  more  as  a  leading  Southerner.  The  result  was  two 
fold.  Cresswell,  on  the  one  hand,  with  his  usual  selfish 
ness,  took  his  rising  popularity  as  a  matter  of  course 
and  as  the  fruits  of  his  own  work ;  he  was  rising,  he  was 
making  valuable  speeches,  he  was  becoming  a  social  power, 
and  his  only  handicap  was  his  plain  and  over-ambitious 
wife.  But  on  the  other  hand  Mrs.  Cresswell  forgot  two 
pitfalls :  the  cleft  between  the  old  Southern  aristocracy  and 
the  pushing  new  Southerners;  and  above  all,  her  own 
Northern  birth  and  presumably  pro-Negro  sympathies. 

What  Mrs.  Cresswell  forgot  Mrs.  Vanderpool  sensed 
unerringly.  She  had  heard  with  uneasiness  of  Cresswell's 
renewed  candidacy  for  the  Paris  ambassadorship,  and  she 
set  herself  to  block  it.  She  had  worked  hard.  The  Presi 
dent  stood  ready  to  send  her  husband's  appointment  again 
to  the  Senate  whenever  Easterly  could  assure  him  of  fav 
orable  action.  Easterly  had  long  and  satisfactory  inter 
views  with  several  senators,  while  the  Todd  insurgents 
were  losing  heart  at  the  prospect  of  choosing  between 


A  PARTING  OF  WAYS  343 

Vanderpool  and  Cresswell.  At  present  four  Southern 
votes  were  needed  to  confirm  Vanderpool;  but  if  they 
could  not  be  had,  Easterly  declared  it  would  be  good 
politics  to  nominate  Cresswell  and  give  him  Republican 
support.  Manifestly,  then,  Mrs.  Vanderpool's  task  was 
to  discredit  the  Cresswells  with  the  Southerners.  It  was 
not  a  work  to  her  liking,  but  the  die  was  cast  and  she 
refused  to  contemplate  defeat. 

The  result  was  that  while  Mrs.  Cresswell  was  giving 
large  and  brilliant  parties  to  the  whole  Southern  con 
tingent,  Mrs.  Vanderpool  was  engineering  exclusive  din 
ners  where  old  New  York  met  stately  Charleston  and 
gossiped  interestingly.  On  such  occasions  it  was  hinted 
not  once,  but  many  times,  that  the  Cresswells  were  well 
enough,  but  who  was  that  upstart  wife  who  presumed  to 
take  social  precedence? 

It  was  not,  however,  until  Mrs.  Cresswell's  plan  for 
an  all-Southern  art  exhibit  in  Washington  that  Mrs. 
Vanderpool,  in  a  flash  of  inspiration,  saw  her  chance.  In 
the  annual  exhibit  of  the  Corcoran  Art  Gallery,  a  South 
ern  girl  had  nearly  won  first  prize  over  a  Western  man. 
The  concensus  of  Southern  opinion  was  that  the  judg 
ment  had  been  unfair,  and  Mrs.  Cresswell  was  convinced 
of  this.  With  quick  intuition  she  suggested  a  Southern 
exhibit  with  such  social  prestige  back  of  it  as  to  impress 
the  country. 

The  proposal  caught  the  imagination  of  the  Southern 
set.  None  suspected  a  possible  intrusion  of  the  eternal 
race  issue  for  no  Negroes  were  allowed  in  the  Corcoran 
exhibit  or  school.  This  Mrs.  Vanderpool  easily  ascer 
tained  and  a  certain  sense  of  justice  combined  in  a  curious 
way  with  her  political  intrigue  to  bring  about  the  undoing 
of  Mary  Cresswell. 


344    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

Mrs.  VanderpooPs  very  first  cautious  inquiries  by  way 
of  the  back  stairs  brought  gratifying  response  —  for  did 
not  all  black  Washington  know  well  of  the  work  in 
sculpture  done  by  Mrs.  Samuel  Stillings,  nee  Wynn? 
Mrs.  Vanderpool  remembered  Mrs.  Stillings  perfectly, 
and  she  walked,  that  evening,  through  unobtrusive  thor 
oughfares  and  called  on  Mrs.  Stillings.  Had  Mrs.  Still 
ings  heard  of  the  new  art  movement?  Did  she  intend  to 
exhibit?  Mrs.  Stillings  did  not  intend  to  exhibit  as  she 
was  sure  she  would  not  be  welcome.  She  had  had  a  bust 
accepted  by  the  Corcoran  Art  Gallery  once,  and  when  they 
found  she  was  colored  they  returned  it.  But  if  she  were 
especially  invited?  That  would  make  a  difference,  al 
though  even  then  the  line  would  be  drawn  somehow. 

"Would  it  not  be  worth  a  fight?"  suggested  Mrs. 
Vanderpool  with  a  little  heightening  of  color  in  her  pale 
cheek. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Mrs.  Stillings,  as  she  brought  out 
some  specimens  of  her  work. 

Mrs.  Vanderpool  was  both  ashamed  and  grateful. 
With  money  and  leisure  Mrs.  Stillings  had  been  able  to 
get  in  New  York  and  Boston  the  training  she  had  been 
denied  in  Washington  on  account  of  her  color.  The 
things  she  exhibited  really  had  merit  and  one  curiously 
original  group  appealed  to  Mrs.  Vanderpool  tremen 
dously. 

"  Send  it,"  she  counseled  with  strangely  contradictory 
feelings  of  enthusiasm,  and  added :  "  Enter  it  under  the 
name  of  Wynn." 

In  addition  to  the  general  invitations  to  the  art  ex 
hibit  numbers  of  special  ones  were  issued  to  promising 
Southern  amateurs  who  had  never  exhibited.  For  these 
a  prize  of  a  long-term  scholarship  and  other  smaller  prizes 


A  PARTING  OF  WAYS  345 

were  offered.  When  Mrs.  Vanderpool  suggested  the 
name  of  "  Miss  Wynn  "  to  Mrs.  Cresswell  among  a  dozen 
others,  for  special  invitation,  there  was  nothing  in  its 
sound  to  distinguish  it  from  the  rest  of  the  names,  and  the 
invitation  went  duly.  As  a  result  there  came  to  the  ex 
hibit  a  little  group  called  "  The  Outcasts,"  which  was 
really  a  masterly  thing  and  sent  the  director,  Signor 
Alberni,  into  hysterical  commendation. 

In  the  private  view  and  award  of  prizes  which  preceded 
the  larger  social  function  the  jury  hesitated  long  between 
"  The  Outcasts  "  and  a  painting  from  Georgia.  Mrs. 
Cresswell  was  enthusiastic  and  voluble  for  the  bit  of 
sculpture,  and  it  finally  won  the  vote  for  the  first  prize. 

All  was  ready  for  the  great  day.  The  President  was 
coming  and  most  of  the  diplomatic  corps,  high  officers  of 
the  army,  and  all  the  social  leaders.  Congress  would  be 
well  represented,  and  the  boom  for  Cresswell  as  ambassa 
dor  to  France  was  almost  visible  in  the  air. 

Mary  Cresswell  paused  a  moment  in  triumph  looking 
back  at  the  darkened  hall,  when  a  little  woman  fluttered 
up  to  her  and  whispered: 

"  Mrs.  Cresswell,  have  you  heard  the  gossip  ?  " 

«  No  —  what?" 

"  That  Wynn  woman  they  say  is  a  nigger.  Some  are 
whispering  that  you  brought  her  in  purposely  to  force 
social  equality.  They  say  you  used  to  teach  darkies.  Of 
course,  I  don't  believe  all  their  talk,  but  I  thought  you 
ought  to  know."  She  talked  a  while  longer,  then  fluttered 
furtively  away. 

Mrs.  Cresswell  sat  down  limply.  She  saw  ruin  ahead  — 
to  think  of  a  black  girl  taking  a  prize  at  an  all-Southern 
art  exhibit!  But  there  was  still  a  chance,  and  she  leaped 
to  action.  This  colored  woman  was  doubtless  some  poor 


346    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

deserving  creature.  She  would  call  on  her  immediately, 
and  by  an  offer  of  abundant  help  induce  her  to  withdraw 
quietly. 

Entering  her  motor,  she  drove  near  the  address  and 
then  proceeded  on  foot.  The  street  was  a  prominent  one, 
the  block  one  of  the  best,  the  house  almost  pretentious. 
She  glanced  at  her  memorandum  again  to  see  if  she  was 
mistaken.  Perhaps  the  woman  was  a  domestic ;  probably 
she  was,  for  the  name  on  the  door  was  Stillings.  It  oc 
curred  to  her  that  she  had  heard  that  name  before  — 
but  where?  She  looked  again  at  her  memorandum  and  at 
the  house. 

She  rang  the  bell,  asking  the  trim  black  maid :  "  Is 
there  a  person  named  Caroline  Wynn  living  in  this 
house?" 

The  girl  smiled  and  hesitated. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  she  finally  replied.  "  Won't  you  come 
in?  "  She  was  shown  into  the  parlor,  where  she  sat  down. 
The  room  was  most  interesting,  furnished  in  unimpeach 
able  taste.  A  few  good  pictures  were  on  the  walls,  and 
Mrs.  Cresswell  was  examining  one  when  she  heard  the 
swish  of  silken  skirts.  A  lady  with  gold  brown  face  and 
straight  hair  stood  before  her  with  pleasant  smile.  Where 
had  Mrs.  Cresswell  seen  her  before?  She  tried  to  remem 
ber,  but  could  not. 

"  You  wished  to  see  —  Caroline  Wynn  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?  " 

Mrs.  Cresswell  groped  for  her  proper  cue,  but  the  brown 
lady  merely  offered  a  chair  and  sat  down  silently.  Mrs. 
Cresswell's  perplexity  increased.  She  had  been  planning 
to  descend  graciously  but  authoritatively  upon  some 
shrinking  girl,  but  this  woman  not  only  seemed  to  assume 


A  PARTING  OF  WAYS  347 

equality  but  actually  looked  it.  From  a  rapid  survey, 
Mrs.  Cresswell  saw  a  black  silk  stocking,  a  bit  of  lace,  a 
tailor-made  gown,  and  a  head  with  two  full  black  eyes  that 
waited  in  calmly  polite  expectancy. 

Something  had  to  be  said. 

"I  —  er  —  came ;  that  is,  I  believe  you  sent  a  group 
to  the  art  exhibit?" 

"  Yes." 

"  It  was  good  —  very  good." 

Miss  Wynn  said  nothing,  but  sat  calmly  looking  at  her 
visitor.  Mrs.  Cresswell  felt  irritated. 

"  Of  course,"  she  managed  to  continue,  "  we  are  very 
sorry  that  we  cannot  receive  it." 

"  Indeed?     I  understood  it  had  taken  the  first  prize." 

Mrs.  Cresswell  was  aghast.  Who  had  rushed  the  news 
to  this  woman?  She  realized  that  there  were  depths  to 
this  matter  that  she  did  not  understand  and  her  irritation 
increased. 

"  You  know  that  we  could  not  give  the  prize  to  a  — 
Negro." 

"Why  not?" 

"  That  is  quite  immaterial.  Social  equality  cannot  be 
forced.  At  the  same  time  I  recognize  the  injustice,  and 
I  have  come  to  say  that  if  you  will  withdraw  your  exhibit 
you  will  be  given  a  scholarship  in  a  Boston  school." 

"  I  do  not  wish  it." 

"Well,  what  do  you  want?" 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  I  had  asked  for  anything." 

Mrs.  Cresswell  felt  herself  getting  angry. 

"  Why  did  you  send  your  exhibit  when  you  knew  it 
WSLS  not  wanted?  " 

"  Because  you  asked  me  to." 

"  We  did  not  ask  for  colored  people." 


348    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  You  asked  all  Southern-born  persons.  I  am  a  per 
son  and  I  am  Southern  born.  Moreover,  you  sent  me  a 
personal  letter." 

Mrs.  Cresswell  was  sure  that  this  was  a  lie  and  was 
thoroughly  incensed. 

"  You  cannot  have  the  prize,"  she  almost  snapped. 
"  If  you  will  withdraw  I  will  pay  you  any  reasonable 
sum." 

"  Thank  you.     I  do  not  want  money;  I  want  justice." 
%  Mrs.  Cresswell  arose  and  her  face  was  white. 
L"  That  is  the  trouble  with  you  Negroes :  you  wish  to 
get  above  your  places  and  force  yourselves  where  you  are 
not  wanted.     It  does  no  good,  it  only  makes  trouble  and 
enemies."  '  Mrs.   Cresswell   stopped,   for  the  colored   wo 
man  had^gone  quietly  out  of  the  room  and  in  a  moment 
the  maid  entered  and  stood  ready.     Mrs.  Cresswell  walked 
slowly  to  the  door  and  stepped  out.     Then  she  turned. 

"  What  does  Miss  Wynn  do  for  a  living?  " 

The  girl  tittered. 

"  She  used  to  teach  school  but  she  don't  do  nothing 
now.  She's  just  married;  her  husband  is  Mr.  Stillings, 
Register  of  the  Treasury." 

Mrs.  Cresswell  saw  light  as  she  turned  to  go  down  the 
steps.  There  was  but  one  resource  —  she  must  keep  the 
matter  out  of  the  newspapers,  and  see  Stillings,  whom  she 
now  remembered  well. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  does  the  Miss  Wynn  live  here  who  got 
the  prize  in  the  art  exhibition  ?  " 

Mrs.  Cresswell  turned  in  amazement.  It  was  evidently 
a  reporter,  and  the  maid  was  admitting  him.  The  news 
would  reach  the  papers  and  be  blazoned  to-morrow. 
Slowly  she  sought  her  motor  and  fell  wearily  back  on  its 
cushions. 


A  PARTING  OF  WAYS  349 

"Where  to,  Madame?"  asked  the  chauffeur. 

"  I  don't  care,"  returned  Madame ;  so  the  chauffeur 
took  her  home. 

She  walked  slowly  up  the  stairs.  All  her  carefully  laid 
plans  seemed  about  to  be  thwarted  and  her  castles  were 
leaning  toward  ruin. 

Yet  all  was  not  lost,  if  her  husband  continued  to  be 
lieve  in  her.  If,  as  she  feared,  he  should  suspect  her  on 
account  of  this  Negro  woman,  and  quarrel  with  her  — 

But  he  must  not.  This  very  night,  before  the  morning 
papers  came  out,  she  must  explain.  He  must  see;  he 
must  appreciate  her  efforts. 

She  rushed  into  her  dressing-room  and  called  her  maid. 
Contrary  to  her  Puritan  notions,  she  frankly  sought  to 
beautify  herself.  She  remembered  that  it  was  the  an 
niversary  of  her  coming  to  this  house.  She  got  out  her 
wedding-dress,  and  although  it  hung  loosely,  the  maid 
draped  the  Silver  Fleece  beautifully  about  her. 

She  heard  her  husband  enter  and  come  up-stairs. 
Quickly  finishing  her  toilet,  she  hurried  down  to  arrange 
the  flowers,  for  they  were  alone  that  night.  The  tele 
phone  rang.  She  knew  it  would  ring  up-stairs  in  his 
room,  but  she  usually  answered  it  for  he  disliked  to.  She 
raised  the  receiver  and  started  to  speak  when  she  realized 
that  she  had  broken  into  the  midst  of  a  conversation. 

"  —  committee  won't  meet  to-night,  Harry." 

"So?     All  right.     Anything  on?" 

«  Yes  —  big  spree  at  Nell's.     Will  you  go?  " 

"Sure  thing;  you  know  me!     What  time?" 

"  Meet  us  at  the  Willard  by  nine.     S'long." 

"  Good-bye." 

She  slowly,  half  guiltily,  replaced  the  receiver.  She 
had  not  meant  to  listen,  but  now  to  her  desperate  longing 


350   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

to  keep  him  home  was  added  a  new  motive.  Where  was 
"  Nell's  "  ?  What  was  "  Nell's  "  ?  What  was  —  and  there 
was  fear  in  her  heart.  At  dinner  she  tried  all  her  powers 
on  him.  She  had  his  favorite  dishes;  she  mixed  his  salad 
and  selected  his  wine;  she  talked  interestingly,  and  lis 
tened  sympathetically,  to  him.  He  looked  at  her  with 
more  attention.  Her  cheeks  were  more  brilliant,  for  she 
had  touched  them  with  rouge.  Her  eyes  flashed;  but  he 
glanced  furtively  at  her  short  hair.  She  saw  the  act ; 
but  still  she  strove  until  he  was  content  and  laughing; 
then  coming  round  back  of  his  chair,  she  placed  her  arms 
about  his  neck. 

"  Harry,  will  you  do  me  a  favor?  " 

"Why,  yes  —  if  —  " 

"  It  is  something  I  want  very,  very  much." 

"Well,  all  right,  if  —  " 

"  Harry,  I  feel  a  little  —  hysterical  to-night,  and  — 
you  will  not  refuse  me,  will  you,  Harry  ?  " 

Standing  there,  she  saw  the  tableau  in  her  own  mind, 
and  it  looked  strange.  She  was  afraid  of  herself.  She 
knew  that  she  would  do  something  foolish  if  she  did  not 
win  this  battle.  She  felt  that  overpowering  fanaticism 
back  within  her  raging  restlessly.  If  she  was  not 
careful  — 

"  But  what  is  it  you  want  ?  "  asked  her  husband. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  go  out  to-night." 

He  laughed  awkwardly. 

"  Nonsense,  girl !  The  sub-committee  on  the  cotton 
schedule  meets  to-night  —  very  important ;  otherwise  —  " 

She  shuddered  at  the  smooth  lie  and  clasped  him  closer, 
putting  her  cheek  to  his. 

"Harry,"  she  pleaded,  "just  this  once  —  for  me." 

He    disengaged    himself,    half    impatiently,    and    rose, 


A  PARTING  OF  WAYS  351 

glancing  at  the  clock.  It  was  nearly  nine.  A  feeling  of 
desperation  came  over  her. 

"  Harry,"  she  asked  again  as  he  slipped  on  his  coat. 

"  Don't  be  foolish,"  he  growled. 

"  Just  this  once  —  Harry  —  I  —  -  "  But  the  door 
banged  to,  and  he  was  gone. 

She  stood  looking  at  the  closed  door  a  moment.  Some 
thing  in  her  head  was  ready  to  snap.  She  went  to  the 
rack  and  taking  his  long  heavy  overcoat  slipped  it  on. 
It  nearly  touched  the  floor.  She  seized  a  soft  broad- 
brimmed  hat  and  umbrella  and  walked  out.  Just  what  she 
meant  to  do  she  did  not  know,  but  somehow  she  must  save 
her  husband  and  herself  from  evil.  She  hurried  to  the 
Willard  Hotel  and  watched,  walking  up  and  down  the  op 
posite  sidewalk.  A  woman  brushed  by  her  and  looked  her 
in  the  face. 

"  Hell !  I  thought  you  was  a  man,"  she  said.  "  Is  this 
a  new  gag?  " 

Mrs.  Cresswell  looked  down  at  herself  involuntarily 
and  smiled  wanly.  She  did  look  like  a  man,  with  her  hat 
and  coat  and  short  hair.  The  woman  peered  at  her 
doubtingly.  She  was,  as  Mrs.  Cresswell  noticed,  a  young 
woman,  once  pretty,  perhaps,  and  a  little  over-dressed. 

"  Are  you  walking  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  asked  Mrs.  Cresswell,  and  then 
in  a  moment  it  flashed  upon  her.  She  took  the  woman's 
arm  and  walked  with  her.  Suddenly  she  stopped. 

"Where's  — Nell's?" 

The  woman  frowned.  "  Oh,  that  5s  a  swell  place,"  she 
said.  "  Senators  and  millionaires.  Too  high  for  us  to 
fly." 

Mrs.  Cresswell  winced.     "  But  where  is  it?  "  she  asked. 

"  We  '11  walk  by  it  if  you  want  to." 


352    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

And  Mary  Cresswell  walked  in  another  world.  Up 
from  the  ground  of  the  drowsy  city  rose  pale  gray  forms ; 
pale,  flushed,  and  brilliant,  in  silken  rags.  Up  and  down 
they  passed,  to  and  fro,  looking  and  gliding  like  sheeted 
ghosts;  now  dodging  policemen,  now  accosting  them 
familiarly. 

"  Hello,  Elise,"  growled  one  big  blue-coat. 

"  Hello,  Jack." 

"  What 's  this?  "  and  he  peered  at  Mrs.  Cresswell,  who 
shrank  back. 

"  Friend  of  mine.     All  right." 

A  horror  crept  over  Mary  Cresswell:  where  had  she 
lived  that  she  had  seen  so  little  before?  What  was  Wash 
ington,  and  what  was  this  fine,  tall,  quiet  residence?  Was 
this  —  "  Nell's  "  ? 

"  Yes,  this  is  it  —  good-bye  —  I  must  — 

"Wait  —  what  is  your  name?" 

"  I  have  n't  any  name,"  answered  the  woman  sus 
piciously. 

"  Well  —  pardon  me !  Here !  "  and  she  thrust  a  bill 
into  the  woman's  hand. 

The  girl  stared.  "  Well,  you  're  a  queer  one !  Thanks. 
Guess  I  '11  turn  in." 

Mary  Cresswell  turned  to  see  her  husband  and  his  com 
panions  ascending  the  steps  of  the  quiet  mansion.  She 
stood  uncertainly  and  looked  at  the  opening  and  closing 
door.  Then  a  policeman  came  by  and  looked  at  her. 

"  Come,  move  on,"  he  brusquely  ordered.  Her  vacilla 
tion  promptly  vanished,  and  she  resolutely  mounted  the 
steps.  She  put  out  her  hand  to  ring,  but  the  door  flew 
silently  open  and  a  man-servant  stood  looking  at  her. 

"  I  have  some  friends  here,"  she  said,  speaking  coarsely. 

"  You  will  have  to  be  introduced,"  said  the  man.     She 


A  PARTING  OF  WAYS  356 

hesitated  and  started  to  turn  away.  Thrusting  her  hand 
in  her  pocket  it  closed  upon  her  husband's  card-case. 
She  presented  a  card.  It  worked  a  rapid  transformation 
in  the  servant's  manner,  which  did  not  escape  her. 

"  Come  in,"  he  invited  her. 

She  did  not  stop  at  the  outstretched  arm  of  the  cloak- 
man,  but  glided  quickly  up  the  stairs  toward  a  vision  of 
handsome  women  and  strains  of  music.  Harry  Cresswell 
was  sitting  opposite  and  bending  over  an  impudent  blue- 
and-blonde  beauty.  Mary  slipped  straight  across  to  him 
and  leaned  across  the  table.  The  hat  fell  off,  but  she  let 
it  go. 

"  Harry !  "  she  tried  to  say  as  he  looked  up. 

Then  the  table  swayed  gently  to  and  fro;  the  room 
bowed  and  whirled  about;  the  voices  grew  fainter  and 
fainter  —  all  the  world  receded  suddenly  far  away.  She 
extended  her  hands  languidly,  then,  feeling  so  utterly 
tired,  let  her  eyelids  drop  and  fell  asleep. 

She  awoke  with  a  start,  in  her  own  bed.  She  was  phys 
ically  exhausted  but  her  mind  was  clear.  She  must  go 
down  and  meet  him  at  breakfast  and  talk  frankly  with 
him.  She  would  let  bygones  be  bygones.  She  would  ex 
plain  that  she  had  followed  him  to  save  him,  not  to  betray 
him.  She  would  point  out  the  great  career  before  him 
if  only  he  would  be  a  man ;  she  would  show  him  that  they 
had  not  failed.  For  herself  she  asked  nothing,  only  his 
word,  his  confidence,  his  promise  to  try. 

After  his  first  start  of  surprise  at  seeing  her  at  the 
table,  Cresswell  uttered  nothing  immediately  save  the 
commonplaces  of  greeting.  He  mentioned  one  or  two  bits 
of  news  from  the  paper,  upon  which  she  commented  while 
dawdling  over  her  egg.  When  the  servant  went  out  and 
closed  the  door,  she  paused  a  moment  considering  whether 


354    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

to  open  by  appeal  or  explanation.  His  smooth  tones 
startled  her: 

"  Of  course,  after  your  art  exhibit  and  the  scene  of 
last  night,  Mary,  it  will  be  impossible  for  us  to  live  longer 
together." 

She  stared  at  him,  utterly  aghast  —  voiceless  and 
numb. 

"  I  have  seen  the  crisis  approaching  for  some  time,  and 
the  Negro  business  settles  it,"  he  continued.  "  I  have 
now  decided  to  send  you  to  my  home  in  Alabama,  to  my 
father  or  your  brother.  I  am  sure  you  will  be  happier 
there." 

He  rose.  Bowing  courteously,  he  waited,  coldly  and 
calmly,  for  her  to  go. 

All  at  once  she  hated  him  and  hated  his  aristocratic 
repression ;  this  cold  calm  that  hid  hell  and  its  fires.  She 
looked  at  him,  wide-eyed,  and  said  in  a  voice  hoarse  with 
horror  and  loathing: 

"  You  brute !     You  nasty  brute !  " 


CHAPTER  XXXII 
ZORA'S  WAY 

ZORA   was   looking   on   her   world   with   the    keener 
vision  of  one  who,  blind  from  very  seeing,  closes 
the  eyes  a  space  and  looks  again  with  wider  clearer 
vision.     Out  of  a  nebulous  cloudland  she  seemed  to  step ; 
a  land  where  all  things  floated  in  strange  confusion,  but 
where    one    thing    stood    steadfast,    and    that    was    love. 
When  love  was  shaken  all  things  moved,  but  now,  at  last, 
for  the  first  time  she  seemed  to  know  the  real  and  mighty 
world  that  stood  behind  that  old  and  shaken  dream. 

So  she  looked  on  the  world  about  her  with  new  eyes. 
These  men  and  women  of  her  childhood  had  hitherto 
walked  by  her  like  shadows;  to-day  they  lived  for  her  in 
flesh  and  blood.  She  saw  hundreds  and  thousands  of  black 
men  and  women:  crushed,  half-spirited,  and  blind.  She 
saw  how  high  and  clear  a  light  Sarah  Smith,  for  thirty 
years  and  more,  had  carried  before  them.  She  saw,  too, 
how  that  the  light  had  not  simply  shone  in  darkness,  but 
had  lighted  answering  beacons  here  and  there  in  these 
dull  souls. 

There  were  thoughts  and  vague  stirrings  of  unrest  in 
this  mass  of  black  folk.     They  talked  long  about  their- 
firesides,  and  here  Zora  began  to  sit   and  listen,  often 
speaking  a  word  herself.     All  through   the  country-side 

[355] 


356    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

she  flitted,  till  gradually  the  black  folk  came  to  know  her 
and,  in  silent  deference  to  some  subtle  difference,  they 
gave  her  the  title  of  white  folk,  calling  her  "  Miss  "  Zora. 

To-day,  more  than  ever  before,  Zora  sensed  the  vast 
unorganized  power  in  this  mass,  and  her  mind  was  leap 
ing  here  and  there,  scheming  and  testing,  when  voices  ar 
rested  her. 

It  was  a  desolate  bit  of  the  Cresswell  manor,  a  tiny 
cabin,  new-boarded  and  bare,  in  front  of  it  a  blazing  bon 
fire.  A  white  man  was  tossing  into  the  flames  different 
household  articles  —  a  feather  bed,  a  bedstead,  two 
rickety  chairs.  A  young,  boyish  fellow,  golden-faced  and 
curly,  stood  with  clenched  fists,  while  a  woman  with  tear- 
stained  eyes  clung  to  him.  The  white  man  raised  a 
cradle  to  dash  it  into  the  flames ;  the  woman  cried,  and 
the  yellow  man  raised  his  arm  threateningly.  But  Zora's 
hand  was  on  his  shoulder. 

"What's  the  matter,  Rob?"  she  asked. 

"  They  're  selling  us  out,"  he  muttered  savagely. 
"  Millie  's  been  sick  since  the  last  baby  died,  and  I  had  to 
neglect  my  crop  to  tend  her  and  the  other  little  ones  - — 
I  did  n't  make  much.  They  've  took  my  mule,  now  they  're 
burning  my  things  to  make  me  sign  a  contract  and  be  a 
slave.  But  by  —  " 

"  There,  Rob,  let  Millie  come  with  me  —  we  '11  see  Miss 
Smith.  We  must  get  land  to  rent  and  arrange  somehow." 

The  mother  sobbed,  "  The  cradle  —  was  baby's  !  " 

With  an  oath  the  white  man  dashed  the  cradle  into  the 
fire,  and  the  red  flame  spurted  aloft. 

The  crimson  fire  flashed  in  Zora's  eyes  as  she  passed 
the  overseer. 

"  Well,  nigger,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  " 
he  growled  insolently. 


ZORA'S  WAY  357 

Zora's  eyelids  drooped,  her  upper  lip  quivered. 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered  softly.  "  But  I  hope  your 
soul  will  burn  in  hell  forever  and  forever." 

They  proceeded  down  the  plantation  road,  but  Zora 
could  not  speak.  She  pushed  them  slowly  on,  and  turned 
aside  to  let  the  anger,  the  impotent,  futile  anger,  rage 
itself  out.  Alone  in  the  great  broad  spaces,  she  knew  she 
could  fight  it  down,  and  come  back  again,  cool  and  in 
calm  and  deadly  earnest,  to  lead  these  children  to  the 
light. 

The  sorrow  in  her  heart  was  new  and  strange ;  not  sor 
row  for  herself,  for  of  that  she  had  tasted  the  uttermost ; 
but  the  vast  vicarious  suffering  for  the  evil  of  the  world. 
The  tumult  and  war  within  her  fled,  and  a  sense  of  help 
lessness  sent  the  hot  tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks. 
She  longed  for  rest ;  but  the  last  plantation  was  yet  to  be 
passed.  Far  off  she  heard  the  yodle  of  the  gangs  of 
peons.  She  hesitated,  looking  for  some  way  of  escape: 
if  she  passed  them  she  would  see  something  —  she  always 
saw  something  —  that  would  send  the  red  blood  whirling 
madly. 

"  Here,  you !  —  loafing  again,  damn  you !  "  She  saw 
the  black  whip  writhe  and  curl  across  the  shoulders  of  the 
plough-boy.  The  boy  crouched  and  snarled,  and  again  the 
whip  hissed  and  cracked. 

Zora  stood  rigid  and  gray. 

"  My  God ! "  her  silent  soul  was  shrieking  within. 
"  why  does  n't  the  coward  —  " 

And  then  the  "  coward  "  did.  The  whip  was  whirring 
in  the  air  again;  but  it  never  fell.  A  jagged  stone  in  the 
boy's  hand  struck  true,  and  the  overseer  plunged  with  a 
grunt  into  the  black  furrow.  In  blank  dismay,  Zora 
came  back  to  her  senses. 


358    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  Poor  child !  "  she  gasped,  as  she  saw  the  boy  flying 
in  wild  terror  over  the  fields,  with  hue  and  cry  behind  him. 

"  Poor  child !  —  running  to  the  penitentiary  —  to 
shame  and  hunger  and  damnation ! " 

She  remembered  the  rector  in  Mrs.  Vanderpool's  library, 
and  his  question  that  revealed  unfathomable  depths  of 
ignorance :  "  Really,  now,  how  do  you  account  for  the 
distressing  increase  in  crime  among  your  people?  " 

She  swung  into  the  great  road  trembling  with  the  woe 
of  the  world  in  her  eyes.  Cruelty,  poverty,  and  crime  she 
had  looked  in  the  face  that  morning,  and  the  hurt  of  it 
held  her  heart  pinched  and  quivering.  A  moment  the 
mists  in  her  eyes  shut  out  the  shadows  of  the  swamp,  and 
the  roaring  in  her  ears  made  a  silence  of  the  world. 

Before  she  found  herself  again  she  dimly  saw  a  couple 
sauntering  along  the  road,  but  she  hardly  noticed  their 
white  faces  until  the  little  voice  of  the  girl,  raised  timidly, 
greeted  her. 

"  Howdy,  Zora." 

Zora  looked.  The  girl  was  Emma,  and  beside  her, 
smiling,  stood  a  half-grown  white  man.  It  was  Emma,  Ber 
tie's  child ;  and  yet  it  was  not,  for  in  the  child  of  other  days 
Zora  saw  for  the  first  time  the  dawning  woman. 

And  she  saw,  too,  the  white  man.  Suddenly  the  horror 
of  the  swamp  was  upon  her.  She  swept  between  the  couple 
like  a  gust,  gripping  the  child's  arm  till  she  paled  and 
almost  whimpered. 

"  I  —  I  was  just  going  on  an  errand  for  Miss  Smith!  " 
she  cried. 

Looking  down  into  her  soul,  Zora  discerned  its  in 
nocence  and  the  fright  shining  in  the  child's  eyes.  Her 
own  eyes  softened,  her  grip  became  a  caress,  but  her 
heart  was  hard. 


ZORA'S  WAY  859 

The  young  man  laughed  awkwardly  and  strolled  away. 
Zora  looked  back  at  him  and  the  paramount  mission  of  * 
her  life  formed  itself  in  her  mind.  She  would  protect  this 
girl;  she  would  protect  all  black  girls.  She  would  make 
it  possible  for  these  poor  beasts  of  burden  to  be  decent  in 
their  toil.  Out  of  protection  of  womanhood  as  the  central 
thought,  she  must  build  ramparts  against  cruelty,  pov 
erty,  and  crime.  All  this  in  turn  —  but  now  and  first,  the 
innocent  girlhood  of  this  daughter  of  shame  must  be  res 
cued  from  the  devil.  It  was  her  duty,  her  heritage.  She 
must  offer  this  unsullied  soul  up  unto  God  in  mighty 
atonement  —  but  how?  Here  now  was  no  protection. 
Already  lustful  eyes  were  in  wait,  and  the  child  was  too 
ignorant  to  protect  herself.  She  must  be  sent  to  board 
ing-school,  somewhere  far  away ;  but  the  money  ?  God ! 
it  was  money,  money,  always  money.  Then  she  stopped 
suddenly,  thrilled  with  the  recollection  of  Mrs.  Vander- 
pool's  check. 

She  dismissed  the  girl  with  a  kiss,  and  stood  still  a 
moment  considering.  Money  to  send  Emma  off  to  school ; 
money  to  buy  a  school  farm ;  money  to  "  buy  "  tenants  to 
live  on  it ;  money  to  furnish  them  rations  ;  money  — 

She  went  straight  to  Miss  Smith. 

"Miss  Smith,  how  much  money  have  you?"  Miss 
Smith's  hand  trembled  a  bit.  Ah,  that  splendid  strength 
of  young  womanhood  —  if  only  she  herself  had  it !  But 
perhaps  Zora  was  the  chosen  one.  She  reached  up  and 
took  down  a  well-worn  book. 

"  Zora,"  she  said  slowly,  "  I'  ve  been  going  to  tell  you 
ever  since  you  came,  but  I  had  n't  the  courage.  Zora," 
Miss  Smith  hesitated  and  gripped  the  book  with  thin 
white  fingers,  "  I  'm  afraid  —  I  almost  know  that  this 
school  is  doomed." 


360   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

There  lay  a  silence  in  the  room  while  the  two  women 
stared  into  each  other's  souls  with  startled  eyes.  Swal 
lowing  hard,  Miss  Smith  spoke. 

"  When  I  thought  the  endowment  sure,  I  mortgaged 
the  school  in  order  to  buy  Tolliver's  land.  The  endow 
ment  failed,  as  you  know,  because  —  perhaps  I  was  too 
stubborn." 

But  Zora's  eyes  snapped  "  No ! "  and  Miss  Smith  con 
tinued  : 

"  I  borrowed  ten  thousand  dollars.  Then  I  tried  to  get 
the  land,  but  Tolliver  kept  putting  me  off,  and  finally  I 
learned  that  Colonel  Cresswell  had  bought  it.  It  seems 
that  Tolliver  got  caught  tight  in  the  cotton  corner,  and 
that  Cresswell,  through  John  Taylor,  offered  him  twice 
what  he  had  agreed  to  sell  to  me  for,  and  he  took  it.  I 
don't  suppose  Taylor  knew  what  he  was  doing;  I  hope 
he  did  n't. 

"  Well,  there  I  was  with  ten  thousand  dollars  idle  on 
my  hands,  paying  ten  per  cent  on  it  and  getting  less  than 
three  per  cent.  I  tried  to  get  the  bank  to  take  the  money 
back,  but  they  refused.  Then  I  was  tempted  —  and  fell." 
She  paused,  and  Zora  took  both  her  hands  in  her  own. 

"  You  see,"  continued  Miss  Smith,  "  just  as  soon  as 
the  announcement  of  the  prospective  endowment  was  sent 
broadcast  by  the  press,  the  donations  from  the  North  fell 
off.  Letter  after  letter  came  from  old  friends  of  the 
school  full  of  congratulations,  but  no  money.  I  ought  to 
have  cut  down  the  teaching  force  to  the  barest  minimum, 
and  gone  North  begging  —  but  I  could  n't.  I  guess  my 
courage  was  gone.  I  knew  how  I  'd  have  to  explain  and 
plead,  and  I  just  could  not.  So  I  used  the  ten  thousand 
dollars  to  pay  its  own  interest  and  help  run  the  school. 


ZORA'S  WAY  S61 

Already  it's  half  gone,  and  when  the  rest  goes  then  will 
come  the  end." 

Without,  the  great  red  sun  paused  a  moment  over  the 
edge  of  the  swamp,  and  the  long,  low  cry  of  night  birds 
broke  sadly  on  the  twilight  silence.  Zora  sat  stroking 
the  lined  hands. 

"  Not  the  end,"  she  spoke  confidently.  "  It  cannot  end 
like  this.  I  've  got  a  little  money  that  Mrs.  Vanderpool 
gave  me,  and  somehow  we  must  get  more.  Perhaps  I 
might  go  North  and  —  beg."  She  shivered.  "Then  she 
sat  up  resolutely  and  turned  to  the  book. 

"  Let 's  go  over  matters  carefully,"  she  proposed. 

Together  they  counted  and  calculated. 

"  The  balance  is  four  thousand  seven  hundred  and 
ninety-eight  dollars,"  said  Miss  Smith. 

"  Yes,  and  then  there  's  Mrs.  Vanderpool's  check." 

"How  much  is  that?" 

Zora  paused ;  she  did  not  know.  In  her  world  there  was 
little  calculation  of  money.  Credit  and  not  cash  is  the  cur 
rency  of  the  Black  Belt.  She  had  been  pleased  to  receive 
the  check,  but  she  had  not  examined  it. 

"  I  really  don't  know,"  she  presently  confessed.  "  I 
think  it  was  one  thousand  dollars;  but  I  was  so  hurried 
in  leaving  that  I  did  n't  look  carefully,"  and  the  wild 
thought  surged  in  her,  suppose  it  was  more ! 

She  ran  into  the  other  room  and  plunged  into  her 
trunk;  beneath  the  clothes,  beneath  the  beauty  of  the 
Silver  Fleece,  till  her  fingers  clutched  and  tore  the  en 
velope.  A  little  choking  cry  burst  from  her  throat,  her 
knees  trembled  so  that  she  was  obliged  to  sit  down. 

In  her  fingers  fluttered  a  check  for  —  ten  thousand 
dollars! 


2    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

It  was  not  until  the  next  day  that  the  two  women  were 
sufficiently  composed  to  talk  matters  over  sanely. 

"  What  is  your  plan  ?  "  asked  Zora. 

"  To  put  the  money  in  a  Northern  savings  bank  at 
three  per  cent  interest;  to  supply  the  rest  of  the  interest, 
and  the  deficit  in  the  running  expenses,  from  our  balance, 
and  to  send  you  North  to  beg." 

Zora  shook  her  head.  "  It  won't  do,"  she  objected, 
"  I  'd  make  a  poor  beggar ;  I  don't  know  human  nature 
well  enough,  and  I  can't  talk  to  rich  white  folks  the  way 
they  expect  us  to  talk." 

"  It  would  n't  be  hypocrisy,  Zora ;  you  would  be  serving 
in  a  great  cause.  If  you  don't  go,  I  —  " 

"  Wait !  You  sha'n't  go.  If  any  one  goes  it  must  be 
me.  But  let  's  think  it  out :  we  pay  off  the  mortgage,  we 
get  enough  to  run  the  school  as  it  has  been  run.  Then 
what?  There  will  still  be  slavery  and  oppression  all 
around  us.  The  children  will  be  kept  in  the  cotton  fields ; 
the  men  will  be  cheated,  and  the  women  —  "  Zora  paused 
and  her  eyes  grew  hard. 

She  began  again  rapidly :  "  We  must  have  land  —  our 
own  farm  with  our  own  tenants  —  to  be  the  beginning 
of  a  free  community." 

Miss  Smith  threw  up  her  hands  impatiently. 

"But  sakes  alive!  Where,  Zora?  Where  can  we  get 
land,  with  Cresswell  owning  every  inch  and  bound  to 
destroy  us  ?  " 

Zora  sat  hugging  her  knees  and  staring  out  the  win 
dow  toward  the  sombre  ramparts  of  the  swamp.  In  her 
eyes  lay  slumbering  the  madness  of  long  ago;  in  her  brain 
danced  all  the  dreams  and  visions  of  childhood. 

"  I  'm  thinking,"  she  murmured,  "  of  buying  the 
swamp." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE  BUYING  OF  THE  SWAMP 

IT'S  a  shame,"  asserted  John  Taylor  with  something 
like  real  feeling.  He  was  spending  Sunday  with 
his  father-in-law,  and  both,  over  their  after-dinner 
cigars,  were  gazing  thoughtfully  at  the  swamp. 

"What's  a  shame?"  asked  Colonel  Cresswell. 

"  To  see  all  that  timber  and  prime  cotton-land  going 
to  waste.  Don't  you  remember  those  fine  bales  of  cotton 
that  came  out  of  there  several  seasons  ago?  " 

The  Colonel  smoked  placidly.  "  You  can't  get  it 
cleared,"  he  said. 

"  But  could  n't  you  hire  some  good  workers  ?  " 

"  Niggers  won't  work.  Now  if  we  had  Italians  we 
might  do  it." 

"  Yes,  and  in  a  few  years  they  'd  own  the  country." 

"  That 's  right ;  so  there  we  are.  There  's  only  one 
way  to  get  that  swamp  cleared." 

"How?" 

"  Sell  it  to  some  fool  darkey." 

"Sell  it?     It's  too  valuable  to  sell." 

"That's  just  it.  You  don't  understand.  The  only 
way  to  get  decent  work  out  of  some  niggers  is  to  let  them 
believe  they  're  buying  land.  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten  he 
works  hard  a  while  and  then  throws  up  the  job.  We  get 
back  our  land  and  he  makes  good  wages  for  his  work." 

[  363] 


364    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

— • 

"  But  in  the  tenth  case  —  suppose  he  should  stick  to 
it?" 

"  Oh,"  —  easily,  "  we  could  get  rid  of  him  when  we 
want  to.  White  people  rule  here." 

John  Taylor  frowned  and  looked  a  little  puzzled.  He 
was  no  moralist,  but  he  had  his  code  and  he  did  not  under 
stand  Colonel  Cresswell.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Colonel 
Cresswell  was  an  honest  man.  In  most  matters  of  com 
merce  between  men  he  was  punctilious  to  a  degree  almost 
annoying  to  Taylor.  But  there  was  one  part  of  the 
world  which  his  code  of  honor  did  not  cover,  and  he  saw  no 
incongruity  in  the  omission.  The  uninitiated  cannot  easily 
picture  to  himself  the  mental  attitude  of  a  former  slave 
holder  toward  property  in  the  hands  of  a  Negro.  Such 
property  belonged  of  right  to  the  master,  if  the  master 

(needed  it ;  and  since  ridiculous  laws  safeguarded  the  prop 
erty,  it  was  perfectly  permissible  to  circumvent  such  laws. 
,  No  Negro  starved  on  the  Cresswell  place,  neither  did  any 
accumulate  property.  Colonel  Cresswell  saw  to  both 
matters. 

As  the  Colonel  and  John  Taylor  were  thus  conferring, 
Zora  appeared,  coming  up  the  walk. 

"  Who  's  that  ?  "  asked  the  Colonel  shading  his  eyes. 

"  It 's  Zora  —  the  girl  who  went  North  with  Mrs.  Van- 
derpool,"  Taylor  enlightened  him. 

"  Back,  is  she?  Too  trifling  to  stick  to  a  job,  and  full 
of  Northern  nonsense,"  growled  the  Colonel.  "  Even  got 
a  Northern  walk  —  I  thought  for  a  moment  she  was  a 
lady." 

Neither  of  the  gentleman  ever  dreamed  how  long,  how 
hard,  how  heart-wringing  was  that  walk  from  the  gate 
up  the  winding  way  beneath  their  careless  gaze.  It  was 
not  the  coming  of  the  thoughtless,  careless  girl  of  five 


THE  BUYING  OF  THE  SWAMP  365 

years  ago  who  had  marched  a  dozen  times  unthinking  be 
fore  the  faces  of  white  men.  It  was  the  approach  of  a 
woman  who  knew  how  the  world  treated  women  whom  it 
respected;  who  knew  that  no  such  treatment  would  be 
thought  of  in  her  case:  neither  the  bow,  the  lifted  hat, 
nor  even  the  conventional  title  of  decency.  Yet  she  must 
go  on  naturally  and  easily,  boldly  but  circumspectly,  and 
play  a  daring  game  with  two  powerful  men. 

"  Can  I  speak  with  you  a  moment,  Colonel?  "  she  asked. 

The  Colonel  did  not  stir  or  remove  his  cigar;  he  even 
injected  a  little  gruffness  into  his  tone. 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

Of  course,  she  was  not  asked  to  sit,  but  she  stood  with 
her  hands  clasped  loosely  before  her  and  her  eyes  half 
veiled. 

"  Colonel,  I  've  got  a  thousand  dollars."  She  did  not 
mention  the  other  nine. 

The  Colonel  sat  up. 

"Where  did  you  get  it?"  he  asked. 

"  Mrs.  Vanderpool  gave  it  to  me  to  use  in  helping  the 
colored  people." 

*'  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  that  5s  just  what  J  came  to  see  you  about.  You 
see,  I  might  give  it  to  the  school,  but  I  've  been  thinking 
that  I  'd  like  to  buy  some  land  for  some  of  the  tenants." 

"  I  've  got  no  land  to  sell,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"  I  was  thinking  you  might  sell  a  bit  of  the  swamp." 

Cresswell  and  Taylor  glanced  at  each  other  and  the 
Colonel  re-lit  his  cigar. 

"  How  much  of  it?  "  he  asked  finally. 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  thought  perhaps  two  hundred  acres." 

"  Two  hundred  acres  ?  Do  you  expect  to  buy  that 
land  for  five  dollars  an  acre?  " 


366    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  Oh,  no,  sir.  I  thought  it  might  cost  as  much  as 
twenty-five  dollars." 

"  But  you  've  only  got  a  thousand  dollars." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  thought  I  might  pay  that  down  and  then 
pay  the  rest  from  the  crops." 

"  Who  's  going  to  work  on  the  place  ?  " 

Zora  named  a  number  of  the  steadiest  tenants  to  whom 
she  had  spoken. 

"  They  owe  me  a  lot  of  money,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"  We  'd  try  to  pay  that,  too." 

Colonel  Cresswell  considered.  There  was  absolutely  no 
risk.  The  cost  of  the  land,  the  back  debts  of  the  tenants 
—  no  possible  crops  could  pay  for  them.  Then  there 
was  the  chance  of  getting  the  swamp  cleared  for  almost 
nothing. 

"  How  's  the  school  getting  on  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

"  Very  poorly,"  answered  Zora  sadly.  "  You  know 
it 's  mortgaged,  and  Miss  Smith  has  had  to  use  the  mort 
gage  money  for  yearly  expenses." 

The  Colonel  smiled  grimly. 

"  It  will  cost  you  fifty  dollars  an  acre,"  he  said  finally. 
Zora  looked  disappointed  and  figured  out  the  matter  slowly. 

"  That  would  be  one  thousand  down  and  nine  thousand 
to  pay  —  " 

"  With  interest,"  said  Cresswell. 

Zora  shook  her  head  doubtfully. 

"What  would  the  interest  be?"  she  asked. 

"  Ten  per  cent." 

She  stood  silent  a  moment  and  Colonel  Cresswell  spoke 
up: 

"  It 's  the  best  land  about  here  and  about  the  only 
land  you  can  buy  — I  would  n't  sell  it  to  anybody  else." 

She  still  hesitated. 


THE  BUYING  OF  THE  SWAMP  367 

"  The  trouble  is,  you  see,  Colonel  Cresswell,  the  price 
is  high  and  the  interest  heavy.  And  after  all  I  may  not 
be  able  to  get  as  many  tenants  as  I  'd  need.  I  think 
though,  I  'd  try  it  if  —  if  I  could  be  sure  you  'd  treat 
me  fairly,  and  that  I  'd  get  the  land  if  I  paid  for  it." 

Colonel  Cresswell  reddened  a  little,  and  John  Taylor 
looked  away. 

"  Well,  if  you  don't  want  to  undertake  it,  all  right." 

Zora  looked  thoughtfully  across  the  field  — 

"  Mr.  Maxwell  has  a  bit  of  land,"  she  began  medita 
tively. 

"  Worked  out,  and  not  worth  five  dollars  an  acre !  " 
snapped  the  Colonel.  But  he  did  not  propose  to  hand 
Maxwell  a  thousand  dollars.  "  Now,  see  here,  I  '11  treat 
you  as  well  as  anybody,  and  you  know  it." 

"  I  believe  so,  sir,"  acknowledged  Zora  in  a  tone  that 
brought  a  sudden  keen  glance  from  Taylor;  but  her  face 
was  a  mask.  "  I  reckon  I  '11  make  the  bargain." 

"  All  right.  Bring  the  money  and  we  '11  fix  the  thing 
up." 

"  The  money  is  here,"  said  Zora,  taking  an  envelope 
out  of  her  bosom. 

"  Well,  leave  it  here,  and  I  '11  see  to  it." 

"  But  you  see,  sir,  Miss  Smith  is  so  methodical ;  she 
expects  some  papers  or  receipts." 

"  Well,  it >s  too  late  to-night." 

"  Possibly  you  could  sign  a  sort  of  receipt  and  later  —  " 

Cresswell  laughed.  "  Well,  write  one,"  he  indulgently 
assented.  And  Zora  wrote. 

When  Zora  left  Colonel  CresswelPs  about  noon  that 
Sunday  she  knew  her  work  had  just  begun,  and  she 
walked  swiftly  along  the  country  roads,  calling  here  and 
there.  Would  Uncle  Isaac  help  her  build  a  log  home? 


368   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

Would  the  boys  help  her  some  time  to  clear  some  swamp 
land?  Would  Rob  become  a  tenant  when  she  asked? 
For  this  was  the  idle  time  of  the  year.  Crops  were  laid 
by  and  planting  had  not  yet  begun. 

This  too  was  the  time  of  big  church  meetings.  She 
knew  that  in  her  part  of  the  country  on  that  day  the 
black  population,  man,  woman,  and  child,  were  gathered 
in  great  groups ;  all  day  they  had  been  gathering,  stream 
ing  in  snake-like  lines  along  the  country  roads,  in  well- 
brushed,  brilliant  attire,  half  fantastic,  half  crude.  Down 
where  the  Toomsville-Montgomery  highway  dipped  to 
the  stream  that  fed  the  Cresswell  swamp  squatted  a  square 
barn  that  slept  through  day  and  weeks  in  dull  indiffer 
ence.  But  on  the  First  Sunday  it  woke  to  sudden  mighty 
life.  The  voices  of  men  and  children  mingled  with  the 
snorting  of  animals  and  the  cracking  of  whips.  Then 
came  the  long  drone  and  sing-song  of  the  preacher  with 
its  sharp  wilder  climaxes  and  the  answering  "  amens  " 
and  screams  of  the  worshippers.  This  was  the  shrine 
of  the  Baptists  —  shrine  and  oracle,  centre  and  source 
of  inspiration  —  and  hither  Zora  hurried. 

The  preacher  was  Jones,  a  big  man,  fat,  black,  and 
greasy,  with  little  eyes,  unctuous  voice,  and  three  manners : 
his  white  folks  manner,  soft,  humble,  wheedling;  his  black 
folks  manner,  voluble,  important,  condescending ;  and  above 
all,  his  pulpit  manner,  loud,  wild,  and  strong.)  He  was 
about  to  don  this  latter  cloak  when  Zora  approached  with 
a  request  briefly  to  address  the  congregation.  Remem 
bering  some  former  snubs,  his  manner  was  lordly. 

• "  I  does  n't  see,"  he  returned  reflectively,  wiping  his 
brows,  "  as  how  I  can  rightly  spare  you  any  time ;  the 
brethren  is  a-gettin'  mighty  onpatient  to  hear  me."  He 
pulled  down  his  cuffs,  regarding  her  doubtfully. 


THE  BUYING  OF  THE  SWAMP  369 

"  I  might  speak  after  you  're  through,"  she  suggested. 
But  he  objected  that  there  was  the  regular  collection 
and  two  or  three  other  collections,  a  baptism,  a  meeting 
of  the  trustees;  there  was  no  time,  in  short;  but  —  he 
eyed  her  again. 

"  Does  you  want  —  a  collection  ?  "  he  questioned  sus 
piciously,  for  he  could  imagine  few  other  reasons  for 
talking.  Then,  too,  he  did  not  want  to  be  too  inflexible, 
for  all  of  his  people  knew  Zora  and  liked  her. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  want  no  collection  at  all.  I  only  want  a 
little  voluntary  work  on  their  part."  He  looked  relieved, 
frowned  through  the  door  at  the  audience,  and  looked  at 
his  bright  gold  watch.  The  whole  crowd  was  not  there 
yet  —  perhaps  — 

"  You  kin  say  just  a  word  before  the  sermont,"  he 
finally  yielded;  "but  not  long  —  not  long.  They'se  just 
a-dying  to  hear  me." 

So  Zora  spoke  simply  but  clearly:  of  neglect  and  suf 
fering,  of  the  sins  of  others  that  bowed  young  shoulders, 
of  the  great  hope  of  the  children's  future.  Then  she  told 
something  of  what  she  had  seen  and  read  of  the  world's  ^ 
newer  ways  of  helping  men  and  women.  She  talked  of  * 
cooperation  and  refuges  and  other  efforts ;  she  praised 
their  way  of  adopting  children  into  their  own  homes; 
and  then  finally  she  told  them  of  the  land  she  was  buying 
for  new  tenants  and  the  helping  hands  she  needed.  The 
preacher  fidgeted  and  coughed  but  dared  not  actually 
interrupt,  for  the  people  were  listening  breathless  to  a 
kind  of  straight-forward  talk  which  they  seldom  heard 
and  for  which  they  were  hungering. 

And  Zora  forgot  time  and  occasion.  The  moment* 
flew;  the  crowd  increased  until  the  wonderful  spell  of 
those  dark  and  upturned  faces  pulsed  in  her  blood.  She 


370   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

felt  the  wild  yearning  to  help  them  beating  in  her  ears 
and  blinding  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  my  people !  "  she  almost  sobbed.  "  My  own  peo 
ple,  I  am  not  asking  you  to  help  others ;  I  am  pleading 
with  you  to  help  yourselves.  Rescue  your  own  flesh  and 
blood  —  free  yourselves  —  free  yourselves  !  "  And  from 
the  swaying  sobbing  hundreds  burst  a  great  "  Amen !  " 
The  minister's  dusky  face  grew  more  and  more  sombre, 
and  the  angry  sweat  started  on  his  brow.  He  felt  him 
self  hoaxed  and  cheated,  and  he  meant  to  have  his  revenge. 
Two  hundred  men  and  women  rose  and  pledged  themselves 
to  help  Zora ;  and  when  she  turned  with  overflowing  heart 
to  thank  the  preacher  he  had  left  the  platform,  and  she 
found  him  in  the  yard  whispering  darkly  with  two  deacons. 
She  realized  her  mistake,  and  promised  to  retrieve  it  dur 
ing  the  week;  but  the  week  was  full  of  planning  and 
journeying  and  talking. 

Saturday  dawned  cool  and  clear.  She  had  dinner  pre 
pared  for  cooking  in  the  yard:  sweet  potatoes,  hoe-cake, 
and  buttermilk,  and  a  hog  to  be  barbecued.  Everything 
was  ready  by  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Emma  and  two 
other  girl  helpers  were  on  the  tip-toe  of  expectancy.  Nine 
o'clock  came  and  no  one  with  it.  Ten  o'clock  came,  and 
eleven.  High  noon  found  Zora  peering  down  the  high 
way  under  her  shading  hand,  but  no  soul  in  sight.  She 
tried  to  think  it  out:  what  could  have  happened?  Her 
people  were  slow,  tardy,  but  they  would  not  thus  forget 
her  and  disappoint  her  without  some  great  cause.  She 
sent  the  girls  home  at  dusk  and  then  seated  herself  misera 
bly  under  the  great  oak;  then  at  last  one  half-grown  boy 
hurried  by. 

"  I  wanted  to  come,  Miss  Zora,  but  I  was  afeared. 
Preacher  Jones  has  been  talking  everywhere  against  you. 


THE  BUYING  OF  THE  SWAMP  371 

He  says  your  mother  was  a  voodoo  woman  and  that  you 
don't  believe  in  God,  and  the  deacons  voted  that  the  mem 
bers  must  n't  help  you." 

"  And  do  the  people  believe  that  ?  "  she  asked  in  con 
sternation. 

"  They  just  don't  know  what  to  say.  They  don't 
'zactly  believe  it,  but  they  has  to  'low  that  you  didn't 
say  much  'bout  religion  when  you  talked.  You  ain't 
been  near  Big  Meetin'  —  and  —  and  —  you  ain't  saved." 
He  hurried  on. 

Zora  leaned  her  head  back  wearily,  watching  the  laced 
black  branches  where  the  star-light  flickered  through  — 
as  coldly  still  and  immovable  as  she  had  watched  them 
from  those  gnarled  roots  all  her  life  —  and  she  murmured 
bitterly  the  world-old  question  of  despair :  "  What 's  the 
use?  "  It  seemed  to  her  that  every  breeze  and  branch 
was  instinct  with  sympathy,  and  murmuring,  "  What 's 
the  use  ?  "  She  wondered  vaguely  why,  and  as  she  won 
dered,  she  knew. 

For  yonder  where  the  black  earth  of  the  swamp  heaved 
in  a  formless  mound  she  felt  the  black  arms  of  Elspeth 
rising  from  the  sod  —  gigantic,  mighty.  They  stole  to 
ward  her  with  stealthy  hands  and  claw-like  talons.  They 
clutched  at  her  skirts.  She  froze  and  could  not  move. 
Down,  down  she  slipped  toward  the  black  slime  of  the 
swamp,  and  the  air  about  was  horror  —  down,  down,  till 
the  chilly  waters  stung  her  knees ;  and  then  with  one  grip 
she  seized  the  oak,  while  the  great  hand  of  Elspeth  twisted 
and  tore  her  soul.  Faint,  afar,  nearer  and  nearer  and 
ever  mightier,  rose  a  song  of  mystic  melody.  She  heard 
its  human  voice  and  sought  to  cry  aloud.  She  strove 
again  and  again  with  that  gripping,  twisting  pain  —  that 
awful  hand  —  until  the  shriek  came  and  she  awoke. 


372    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

She  lay  panting  and  sweating  across  the  bent  and 
broken  roots  of  the  oak.  The  hand  of  Elspeth  was  gone 
but  the  song  was  still  there.  She  rose  trembling  and 
listened.  It  was  the  singing  of  the  Big  Meeting  in  the 
church  far  away.  She  had  forgotten  this  religious  re 
vival  in  her  days  of  hurried  preparation,  and  the  preacher 
had  used  her  absence  and  apparent  indifference  against 
her  and  her  work.  The  hand  of  Elspeth  was  reaching 
from  the  grave  to  pull  her  back;  but  she  was  no  longer 
dreaming  now.  Drawing  her  shawl  about  her,  she  hur 
ried  down  the  highway. 

The  meeting  had  overflowed  the  church  and  spread  to 
the  edge  of  the  swamp.  The  tops  of  young  trees  had  been 
bent  down  and  interlaced  to  form  a  covering  and  benches 
twined  to  their  trunks.  Thus  a  low  and  wide  cathedral, 
all  green  and  silver  in  the  star-light,  lay  packed  with  a 
living  mass  of  black  folk.  Flaming  pine  torches  burned 
above  the  devotees;  the  rhythm  of  their  stamping,  the 
shout  of  their  voices,  and  the  wild  music  of  their  singing 
shook  the  night.  Four  hundred  people  fell  upon  their 
knees  when  the  huge  black  preacher,  uncoated,  red-eyed, 
frenzied,  stretched  his  long  arms  to  heaven.  Zora  saw 
the  throng  from  afar,  and  hesitated.  After  all,  she  knew 
little  of  this  strange  faith  of  theirs  —  had  little  belief  in 
its  mummery.  She  herself  had  been  brought  up  almost 
without  religion  save  some  few  mystic  remnants  of  a  half- 
forgotten  heathen  cult.  The  little  she  had  seen  of  religious 
observance  had  not  moved  her  greatly,  save  once  yonder 
in  Washington.  There  she  found  God  after  a  searching 
that  had  seared  her  soul ;  but  He  had  simply  pointed  the 
Way,  and  the  way  was  human. 

Humanity  was  near  and  real.  She  loved  it.  But  if 
she  talked  again  of  mere  men  would  these  devotees  listen? 


THE  BUYING  OF  THE  SWAMP  373 

Already  the  minister  had  spied  her  tall  form  and  feared 
her  power.  He  set  his  powerful  voice  and  the  frenzy 
of  his  hearers  to  crush  her. 

"  Who  is  dis  what  talks  of  doing  the  Lord's  work  for 
Him?  What  does  de  good  Book  say?  Take  no  thought 
'bout  de  morrow.  Why  is  you  trying  to  make  dis  ole 
world  better?  I  spits  on  the  world!  Come  out  from  it. 
Seek  Jesus.  Heaven  is  my  home !  Is  it  yo's  ?  "  "  Yes," 
groaned  the  multitude.  His  arm  shot  out  and  he  pointed 
straight  at  Zora. 

"  Beware  the  ebil  one !  "  he  shouted,  and  the  multitude 
moaned.  "  Beware  of  dem  dat  calls  ebil  good.  Beware 
of  dem  dat  worships  debbils;  the  debbils  dat  crawl;  de 
debbils  what  forgits  God." 

"  Help  him,  Lord !  "  cried  the  multitude. 

Zora  stepped  into  the  circle  of  light.  A  hush  fell  on 
the  throng;  the  preacher  paused  a  moment,  then  started 
boldly  forward  with  upraised  hands.  Then  a  curious 
thing  happened.  A  sharp  cry  arose  far  off  down  toward 
the  swamp  and  the  sound  of  great  footsteps  coming,  com 
ing  as  from  the  end  of  the  world;  there  swelled  a  rhyth 
mical  chanting,  wilder  and  more  primitive  than  song.  On, 
on  it  came,  until  it  swung  into  sight.  An  old  man  led 
the  band  —  tall,  massive,  with  tufted  gray  hair  and 
wrinkled  leathery  skin,  and  his  eyes  were  the  eyes  of  death. 
He  reached  the  circle  of  light,  and  Zora  started:  once 
before  she  had  seen  that  old  man.  The  singing  stopped 
but  he  came  straight  on  till  he  reached  Zora's  side  and 
then  he  whirled  and  spoke. 

The  words  leaped  and  flew  from  his  lips  as  he  lashed 
the  throng  with  bitter  fury.  He  said  what  Zora  wanted 
to  say  with  two  great  differences :  first,  he  spoke  their 
religious  language  and  spoke  it  with  absolute  confidence 


374    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

and  authority;  and  secondly,  he  seemed  to  know  each  one 
there  personally  and  intimately  so  that  he  spoke  to  no 
inchoate  throng  —  he  spoke  to  them  individually,  and 
they  listened  awestruck  and  fearsome. 

"  God  is  done  sent  me,"  he  declared  in  passionate  tones, 
"  to  preach  His  acceptable  time.  Faith  without  works 
is  dead;  who  is  you  that  dares  to  set  and  wait  for  the 
Lord  to  do  your  work  ?  "  Then  in  sudden  fury,  "  Ye 
generation  of  vipers  —  who  kin  save  you?"  He  bent 
forward  and  pointed  his  long  finger.  "  Yes,"  he  cried, 
"  pray,  Sam  Collins,  you  black  devil ;  pray,  for  the  corn 
you  stole  Thursday."  The  black  figure  moved.  "  Moan, 
Sister  Maxwell,  for  the  backbiting  you  did  to-day.  Yell, 
Jack  Tolliver,  you  sneaking  scamp,  t'wil  the  Lord  tell 
Uncle  Bill  who  ruined  his  daughter.  Weep,  May  Haynes, 
for  that  baby  —  " 

But  the  woman's  shriek  drowned  his  words,  and  he 
whirled  full  on  the  preacher,  stamping  his  feet  and  wav 
ing  his  hands.  His  anger  choked  him;  the  fat  preacher 
cowered  gray  and  trembling.  The  gaunt  fanatic  towered 
over  him. 

"  You  —  you  —  ornery  hound  of  Hell !  God  never 
knowed  you  and  the  devil  owns  your  soul ! "  There 
leapt  from  his  lips  a  denunciation  so  livid,  specific,  and 
impassioned  that  the  preacher  squatted  and  bowed,  then 
finally  fell  upon  his  face  and  moaned. 

The  gaunt  speaker  turned  again  to  the  people.  He 
talked  of  little  children;  he  pictured  their  sin  and  neg 
lect.  "  God  is  done  sent  me  to  offer  you  all  salvation," 
he  cried,  while  the  people  wept  and  wailed ;  "  not  in 
praying,  but  in  works.  Follow  me ! "  The  hour  was 
half  way  between  midnight  and  dawn,  but  nevertheless 
the  people  leapt  frenziedly  to  their  feet. 


THE  BUYING  OF  THE  SWAMP  376 

"  Follow  me !  "  he  shouted. 

And,  singing  and  chanting,  the  throng  poured  out 
upon  the  black  highway,  waving  their  torches.  Zora  knew 
his  intention.  With  a  half-dozen  of  younger  onlookers 
she  unhitched  teams  and  rode  across  the  land,  calling  at 
the  cabins.  Before  sunrise,  tools  were  in  the  swamp, 
axes  and  saws  and  hammers.  The  noise  of  prayer  and 
singing  filled  the  Sabbath  dawn.  The  news  of  the  great 
revival  spread,  and  men  and  women  came  pouring  in. 
Then  of  a  sudden  the  uproar  stopped,  and  the  ringing 
of  axes  and  grating  of  saws  and  tugging  of  mules  was 
heard.  The  forest  trembled  as  by  some  mighty  magic, 
swaying  and  falling  with  crash  on  crash.  Huge  bonfires 
blazed  and  crackled,  until  at  last  a  wide  black  scar  ap 
peared  in  the  thick  south  side  of  the  swamp,  which  wid 
ened  and  widened  to  full  twenty  acres. 

The  sun  rose  higher  and  higher  till  it  blazed  at  high 
noon.  The  workers  dropped  their  tools.  The  aroma  of 
coffee  and  roasting  meat  rose  in  the  dim  cool  shade.  With 
ravenous  appetites  the  dark,  half-famished  throng  fell 
upon  the  food,  and  then  in  utter  weariness  stretched  them 
selves  and  slept:  lying  along  the  earth  like  huge  bronze 
earth-spirits,  sitting  against  trees,  curled  in  dense  bushes. 

And  Zora  sat  above  them  on  a  high  rich-scented  pile 
of  logs.  Her  senses  slept  save  her  sleepless  eyes.  Amid 
a  silence  she  saw  in  the  little  grove  that  still  stood,  the 
cabin  of  Elspeth  tremble,  sigh,  and  disappear,  and  with 
it  flew  some  spirit  of  evil. 

Then  she  looked  down  to  the  new  edge  of  the  swamp, 
by  the  old  lagoon,  and  saw  Bles  Alwyn  standing  there. 
It  seemed  very  natural;  and  closing  her  eyes,  she  fell 
asleep. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 
THE  RETURN  OF  ALWYN 

BLES  ALWYN  stared  at  Mrs.  Harry  Cresswell  in 
surprise.  He  had  not  seen  her  since  that  mo 
ment  at  the  ball,  and  he  was  startled  at  the  change. 
Her  abundant  hair  was  gone;  her  face  was  pale  and 
drawn,  and  there  were  little  wrinkles  below  her  sunken 
eyes.  In  those  eyes  lurked  the  tired  look  of  the  bewildered 
and  the  disappointed.  It  was  in  the  lofty  waiting-room 
of  the  Washington  station  where  Alwyn  had  come  to 
meet  a  friend.  Mrs.  Cresswell  turned  and  recognized  him 
with  genuine  pleasure.  He  seemed  somehow  a  part  of 
the  few  things  in  the  world  —  little  and  unimportant  per 
haps  —  that  counted  and  stood  firm,  and  she  shook  his 
hand  cordially,  not  minding  the  staring  of  the  people 
about.  He  took  her  bag  and  carried  it  towards  the  gate, 
which  made  the  observers  breathe  easier,  seeing  him  in 
servile  duty.  Someway,  she  knew  not  just  how,  she  found 
herself  telling  him  of  the  crisis  in  her  life  before  she  real 
ized;  not  everything,  of  course,  but  a  great  deal.  It  was 
much  as  though  she  were  talking  to  some  one  from  another 
world  —  an  outsider ;  but  one  she  had  known  long,  one 
who  understood.  Both  from  what  she  recounted  and 
what  she  could  not  tell  he  gathered  the  substance  of  the 
story,  and  it  bewildered  him.  He  had  not  thought  that 

[376] 


THE  RETURN  OF  ALWYN  377 

white  people  had  such  troubles;  yet,  he  reflected,  why 
not?  They,  too,  were  human. 

"  I  suppose  you  hear  from  the  school  ?  "  he  ventured 
after  a  pause. 

"  Why,  yes  —  not  directly  —  but  Zora  used  to  speak 
of  it." 

Bles  looked  up  quickly. 

"Zora?" 

"  Yes.  Did  n't  you  see  her  while  she  was  here  ?  She 
has  gone  back  now." 

Then  the  gate  opened,  the  crowd  surged  through,  sweep 
ing  them  apart,  and  next  moment  he  was  alone. 

Alwyn  turned  slowly  away.  He  forgot  the  friend  he 
was  to  meet.  He  forgot  everything  but  the  field  of  the 
Silver  Fleece.  It  rose  shadowy  there  in  the  pale  con 
course,  swaying  in  ghostly  breezes.  The  purple  of  its 
flowers  mingled  with  the  silver  radiance  of  tendrils  that 
trembled  across  the  hurrying  throng,  like  threads  of  mists 
along  low  hills.  In  its  midst  rose  a  dark,  slim,  and  quiver 
ing  form.  She  had  been  here  —  here  in  Washington  ! 
Why  had  he  not  known?  What  was  she  doing?  "  She 
has  gone  back  now  "  —  back  to  the  Sun  and  the  Swamp, 
back  to  the  Burden. 

Why  should  not  he  go  back,  too?  He  walked  on 
thinking.  He  had  failed.  His  apparent  success  had 
been  too  sudden,  too  overwhelming,  and  when  he  had 
faced  the  crisis  his  hand  had  trembled.  He  had  chosen 
the  Right  —  but  the  Right  was  ineffective,  impotent,  al 
most  ludicrous.  It  left  him  shorn,  powerless,  and  in  moral 
revolt.  The  world  had  suddenly  left  him,  as  the  vision 
of  Carrie  Wynn  had  left  him,  alone,  a  mere  clerk,  an 
insignificant  cog  in  the  great  grinding  wheel  of  humdrum 
drudgery.  His  chance  to  do  and  thereby  to  be  had 
not  come. 


378   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

He  thought  of  Zora  again.  Why  not  go  back  to  the 
South  where  she  had  gone?  He  shuddered  as  one  who 
sees  before  him  a  cold  black  pool  whither  his  path  leads. 
To  face  the  proscription,  the  insult,  the  lawless  hate  of 
the  South  again  —  never !  And  yet  he  went  home  and 
sat  down  and  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Miss  Smith. 

The  reply  that  came  after  some  delay  was  almost  curt. 
It  answered  few  of  his  questions,  argued  with  none  of 
his  doubts,  and  made  no  mention  of  Zora.  Yes,  there 
was  need  of  a  manager  for  the  new  farm  and  settlement. 
She  was  not  sure  whether  Alwyn  could  do  the  work  or 
not.  The  salary  was  meagre  and  the  work  hard.  If 
he  wished  it,  he  must  decide  immediately. 

Two  weeks  later  found  Alwyn  on  the  train  facing 
Southward  in  the  Jim  Crow  car.  How  he  had  decided  to 
go  back  South  he  did  not  know.  In  fact,  he  had  not  de 
cided.  He  had  sat  helpless  and  inactive  in  the  grip  of 
great  and  shadowed  hands,  and  the  thing  was  as  yet 
incomprehensible.  And  so  it  was  that  the  vision  Zora 
saw  in  the  swamp  had  been  real  enough,  and  Alwyn  felt 
strangely  disappointed  that  she  had  given  no  sign  of 
greeting  on  recognition. 

In  other  ways,  too,  Zora,  when  he  met  her,  was  to  him 
a  new  creature.  She  came  to  him  frankly  and  greeted 
him,  her  gladness  shining  in  her  eyes,  yet  looking  noth 
ing  more  than  gladness  and  saying  nothing  more.  Just 
what  he  had  expected  was  hard  to  say;  but  he  had  left 
her  on  her  knees  in  the  dirt  with  outstretched  hands,  and 
somehow  he  had  expected  to  return  to  some  correspond 
ing  mental  attitude.  The  physical  change  of  these  three 
years  was  marvellous.  The  girl  was  the  woman,  well- 
rounded  and  poised,  tall,  straight,  and  quick.  And  with 
this  went  mental  change:  a  self-mastery;  a  veiling  of  the 


THE  RETURN  OF  ALWYN  879 

self  even  in  intimate  talk;  a  subtle  air  as  of  one  look 
ing  from  great  and  unreachable  heights  down  on  the 
dawn  of  the  world.  Perhaps  no  one  who  had  not  known 
the  child  and  the  girl  as  he  had  would  have  noted  all  this ; 
but  he  saw  and  realized  the  transformation  with  a  pang 
—  something  had  gone ;  the  innocence  and  wonder  of  the 
child,  and  in  their  place  had  grown  up  something  to  him 
incomprehensible  and  occult. 

Miss  Smith  was  not  to  be  easily  questioned  on  the 
subject.  She  took  no  hints  and  gave  no  information,  and 
when  once  he  hazarded  some  pointed  questions  she  turned 
on  him  abruptly,  observing  acidly :  "  If  I  were  you  I  'd 
think  less  of  Zora  and  more  of  her  work." 

Gradually,  in  his  spiritual  perplexity,  Alwyn  turned 
to  Mary  Cresswell.  She  was  staying  with  the  Colonel 
at  Cresswell  Oaks.  Her  coming  South  was  supposed  to 
be  solely  for  reasons  of  health,  and  her  appearance  made 
this  excuse  plausible.  She  was  lonely  and  restless,  and 
naturally  drawn  toward  the  school.  Her  intercourse  with 
Miss  Smith  was  only  formal,  but  her  interest  in  Zora's 
work  grew.  Down  in  the  swamp,  at  the  edge  of  the  cleared 
space,  had  risen  a  log  cabin;  long,  low,  spacious,  over 
hung  with  oak  and  pine.  It  was  Zora's  centre  for  her 
settlement-work.  There  she  lived,  and  with  her  a  half- 
dozen  orphan  girls  and  children  too  young  for  the  board 
ing  department  of  the  school.  Mrs.  Cresswell  easily  fell 
into  the  habit  of  walking  by  here  each  day,  coming  down 
the  avenue  of  oaks  across  the  road  and  into  the  swamp. 
She  saw  little  of  Zora  personally  but  she  saw  her  girls 
and  learned  much  of  her  plans. 

The  rooms  of  the  cottage  were  clean  and  light,  sup 
plied  with  books  and  pictures,  simple  toys,  and  a  phono 
graph.  The  yard  was  one  wide  green  and  golden 


880    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

play-ground,  and  all  day  the  music  of  children's  glad 
crooning  and  the  singing  of  girls  went  echoing  and  tremb 
ling  through  the  trees,  as  they  played  and  sewed  and 
washed  and  worked. 

From  the  Cresswells  and  the  Maxwells  and  others  came 
loads  of  clothes  for  washing  and  mending.  The  Tolliver 
girls  had  simple  dresses  made,  embroidery  was  ordered 
from  town,  and  soon  there  would  be  the  gardens  and 
cotton  fields.  Mrs.  Cresswell  would  saunter  down  of 
mornings.  Sometimes  she  would  talk  to  the  big  girls  and 
play  with  the  children;  sometimes  she  would  sit  hidden 
in  the  forest,  listening  and  glimpsing  and  thinking,  think 
ing,  till  her  head  whirled  and  the  world  danced  red  be 
fore  her  eyes.  To-day  she  rose  wearily,  for  it  was  near 
noon,  and  started  home.  She  saw  Alwyn  swing  along 
the  road  to  the  school  dining-room  where  he  had  charge 
of  the  students  at  the  noonday  meal. 

Alwyn  wanted  Mrs.  Cresswell's  judgment  and  advice. 
He  was  growing  doubtful  of  his  own  estimate  of  women. 
Evidently  something  about  his  standards  was  wrong;  con 
sequently  he  made  opportunities  to  talk  with  Mrs.  Cress- 
well  when  she  was  about,  hoping  she  would  bring  up  the 
subject  of  Zora  of  her  own  accord.  But  she  did  not.  She 
was  too  full  of  her  own  cares  and  troubles,  and  she  was 
only  too  glad  of  willing  and  sympathetic  ears  into  which 
to  pour  her  thoughts.  Miss  Smith  soon  began  to  look 
on  these  conversations  with  some  uneasiness.  Black  men 
and  white  women  cannot  talk  together  casually  in  the 
South  and  she  did  not  know  how  far  the  North  had  put 
notions  in  Alwyn's  head. 

To-day  both  met  each  other  almost  eagerly. 

Mrs.  Cresswell  had  just  had  a  bit  of  news  which  only 
he  would  fully  appreciate. 


THE  RETURN  OF  ALWYN  381 

"  Have  you  heard  of  the  Vanderpools  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No  —  except  that  he  was  appointed  and  confirmed 
at  last." 

"  Well,  they  had  only  arrived  in  France  when  he  died 
of  apoplexy.  I  do  not  know,"  added  Mrs.  Cresswell, 
"  I  may  be  wrong  and  —  I  hope  I  'm  not  glad."  Then 
there  leapt  to  her  mind  a  hypothetical  question  which 
had  to  do  with  her  own  curious  situation.  It  was  char 
acteristic  of  her  to  brood  and  then  restlessly  to  seek  relief 
in  consulting  the  one  person  near  who  knew  her  story. 
She  started  to  open  the  subject  again  to-day. 

But  Alwyn,  his  own  mind  full,  spoke  first  and  rapidly. 
He,  too,  had  turned  to  her  as  he  saw  her  come  from 
Zora's  home.  He  must  know  more  about  the  girl.  He 
could  no  longer  endure  this  silence.  Zora  beneath  her 
apparent  frankness  was  impenetrable,  and  he  felt  that 
she  carefully  avoided  him,  although  she  did  it  so  deftly 
that  he  felt  rather  than  observed  it.  Miss  Smith  still  sys 
tematically  snubbed  him  when  he  broached  the  subject 
of  Zora.  With  others  he  did  not  speak;  the  matter 
seemed  too  delicate  and  sacred,  and  he  always  had  an 
awful  dread  lest  sometime,  somewhere,  a  chance  and  fatal 
word  would  be  dropped,  a  breath  of  evil  gossip  which 
would  shatter  all.  He  had  hated  to  obtrude  his  trou 
bles  on  Mrs.  Cresswell,  who  seemed  so  torn  in  soul.  But 
to-day  he  must  speak,  although  time  pressed. 

"  Mrs.  Cresswell,"  he  began  hurriedly,  "  there  's  a  mat 
ter  —  a  personal  matter  of  which  I  have  wanted  to  speak 
—  a  long  time  — I  —  "  The  dinner-bell  rang,  and  he 
stopped,  vexed. 

"  Come  up  to  the  house  this  afternoon,"  she  said ; 
"  Colonel  Cresswell  will  be  away  —  "  Then  she  paused 
abruptly.  A  strange  startling  thought  flashed  through 


382    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

her  brain.  Alwyn  noticed  nothing.  He  thanked  her 
cordially  and  hurried  toward  the  dining-hall,  meeting 
Colonel  Cresswell  on  horseback  just  as  he  turned  into 
the  school  gate. 

Mary  Cresswell  walked  slowly  on,  flushing  and  paling 
by  turns.  Could  it  be  that  this  Negro  had  dared  to  mis 
understand  her  —  had  presumed?  She  reviewed  her  con 
duct.  Perhaps  she  had  been  indiscreet  in  thus  making 
a  confidant  of  him  in  her  trouble.  She  had  thought  of 
him  as  a  boy  —  an  old  student,  a  sort  of  confidential 
servant;  but  what  had  he  thought?  She  remembered  Miss 
Smith's  warning  of  years  before  —  and  he  had  been 
North  since  and  acquired  Northern  notions  of  freedom 
and  equality.  She  bit  her  lip  cruelly. 

Yet,  she  mused,  she  was  herself  to  blame.  She  had 
unwittingly  made  the  intimacy  and  he  was  but  a  Negro, 
looking  on  every  white  woman  as  a  goddess  and  ready 
to  fawn  at  the  slightest  encouragement.  There  had  been 
no  one  else  here  to  confide  in.  She  could  not  tell  Miss 
Smith  her  troubles,  although  she  knew  Miss  Smith  must 
suspect.  Harry  Cresswell,  apparently,  had  written 
nothing  home  of  their  quarrel.  All  the  neighbors  behaved 
as  if  her  excuse  of  ill-health  were  sufficient  to  account  for 
her  return  South  to  escape  the  rigors  of  a  Northern 
winter.  Alwyn,  and  Alwyn  alone,  really  knew.  Well, 
it  was  her  blindness,  and  she  must  right  it  quietly  and 
quickly  with  hard  ruthless  plainness.  She  blushed  again 
at  the  shame  of  it;  then  she  began  to  excuse. 

After  all,  which  was  worse- —  a  Cresswell  or  an  Alwyn? 
It  was  no  sin  that  Alwyn  had  done ;  it  was  simply  ignorant 
presumption,  and  she  must  correct  him  firmly,  but  gently, 
like  a  child.  What  a  crazy  muddle  the  world  was !  She 
thought  of  Harry  Cresswell  and  the  tale  he  told  her  in 


THE  RETURN  OF  ALWYN  383 

the  swamp.  She  thought  of  the  flitting  ghosts  that  awful 
night  in  Washington.  She  thought  of  Miss  Wynn  who 
had  jilted  Alwyn  and  given  her  herself  a  very  bad  quarter 
of  an  hour.  What  a  world  it  was,  and  after  all  how 
far  was  this  black  boy  wrong?  Just  then  Colonel  Cress- 
well  rode  up  behind  and  greeted  her. 

She  started  almost  guiltily,  and  again  a  sense  of  the 
awkwardness  of  her  position  reddened  her  face  and  neck. 
The  Colonel  dismounted,  despite  her  protest,  and  walked 
beside  her.  They  chatted  along  indifferently,  of  the  crops, 
her  brother's  new  baby,  the  proposed  mill. 

"  Mary,"  his  voice  abruptly  struck  a  new  note.  "  I 
don't  like  the  way  you  talk  with  that  Alwyn  nigger." 

She  was  silent. 

"  Of  course,"  he  continued,  "  you  're  Northern  born 
and  you  have  been  a  teacher  in  this  school  and  feel  dif 
ferently  from  us  in  some  ways;  but  mark  what  I  sa}% 
a  nigger  will  presume  on  the  slightest  pretext,  and  you 
must  keep  them  in  their  place.  Then,  too,  you  are  a 
Cresswell  now  —  " 

She  smiled  bitterly ;  he  noticed  it,  but  went  on : 

"  You  are  a  Cresswell,  even  if  you  have  caught  Harry 
up  to  some  of  his  deviltry," — she  started, —  "and  got 
miffed  about  it.  It  '11  all  come  out  right.  You  're  a  Cress- 
well,  and  you  must  hold  yourself  too  high  to  '  Mister  ' 
a  nigger  or  let  him  dream  of  any  sort  of  equality." 

He  spoke  pleasantly,  but  with  a  certain  sharp  insist 
ence  that  struck  a  note  of  fear  in  Mary's  heart.  For 
a  moment  she  thought  of  writing  Alwyn  not  to  call.  But, 
no;  a  note  would  be  unwise.  She  and  Colonel  Cresswell 
lunched  rather  silently. 

"  Well,  I  must  get  to  town,"  he  finally  announced. 
"  The  mill  directors  meet  to-day.  If  Maxwell  calls  by 


384    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

about  that  lumber  tell  him  I  '11  see  him  in  town."  And 
Away  he  went. 

He  had  scarcely  reached  the  highway  and  ridden  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  or  so  when  he  spied  Bles  Alwyn  hurry 
ing  across  the  field  toward  the  Cresswell  Oaks.  He  frowned 
and  rode  on.  Then  reining  in  his  horse,  he  stopped  in 
the  shadow  of  the  trees  and  watched  Alwyn. 

It  was  here  that  Zora  saw  him  as  she  came  up  from 
her  house.  She,  too,  stopped,  and  soon  saw  whom  he 
was  watching.  She  had  been  planning  to  see  Mr.  Cress- 
well  about  the  cut  timber  on  her  land.  By  legal  right  it 
was  hers  but  she  knew  he  would  claim  half,  treating  her 
like  a  mere  tenant.  Seeing  him  watching  Alwyn  she 
paused  in  the  shadow  and  waited,  fearing  trouble.  She, 
too,  had  felt  that  the  continued  conversations  of  Alwyri 
and  Mrs.  Cresswell  were  indiscreet,  but  she  hoped  that 
they  had  attracted  no  one  else's  attention.  Now  she  feared 
the  Colonel  was  suspicious  and  her  heart  sank.  Alwyn 
went  straight  toward  the  house  and  disappeared  in  the 
oak  avenue.  Still  Colonel  Cresswell  waited  but  Zora 
waited  no  longer.  Alwyn  must  be  warned.  She  must 
reach  CresswelPs  mansion  before  Cresswell  did  and  with 
out  him  seeing  her.  This  meant  a  long  detour  of  the 
swamp  to  approach  the  Oaks  from  the  west.  She  silently 
gathered  up  her  skirts  and  walked  quickly  and  carefully 
away. 

She  was  a  strong  woman,  lithe  and  vigorous,  living 
in  the  open  air  and  used  to  walking.  Once  out  of  hearing 
she  threw  away  her  hat  and  bending  forward  ran  through 
the  swamp.  For  a  while  the  ran  easily  and  swiftly. 
Then  for  a  moment  she  grew  dizzy  and  it  seemed  as  though 
she  was  standing  still  and  the  swamp  in  solemn  grandeur 


THE  RETURN  OF  ALWYN  385 

marching  past  —  in  solemn  mocking  grandeur.  She 
loosened  her  dress  at  the  neck  and  flew  on. 

She  sped  at  last  through  the  oaks,  up  the  terraces,  and 
slowing  down  to  an  unsteady  walk,  staggered  into  the 
house.  No  one  would  wonder  at  her  being  there.  She 
came  up  now  and  then  and  sorted  the  linen  and  piled  the 
baskets  for  her  girls.  She  entered  a  side  door  and  listened. 
The  Colonel's  voice  sounded  impatiently  in  the  front  hall. 

"Mary!     Mary?" 

A  pause,  then  an  answer: 

"Yes,   father!" 

He  started  up  the  front  stairway  and  Zora  hurried  up 
the  narrow  back  stairs,  almost  overturning  a  servant. 

"  I  'in  after  the  clothes,"  she  explained.  She  reached 
the  back  landing  just  in  time  to  see  Colonel  Cresswell's 
head  rising  up  the  front  staircase.  With  a  quick  bound 
she  almost  fell  into  the  first  room  at  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

Bles  Alwyn  had  hurried  through  his  dinner  duties  and 
hastened  to  the  Oaks.  The  questions,  the  doubts,  the  un 
certainty  within  him  were  clamoring  for  utterance.  How 
much  had  Mrs.  Cresswell  ever  known  of  Zora?  What 
kind  of  a  woman  was  Zora  now?  Mrs.  Cresswell  had 
seen  her  and  had  talked  to  her  and  watched  her.  What 
did  she  think?  Thus  he  formulated  his  questions  as  he 
went,  half  timid,  and  fearful  in  putting  them  and  yet 
determined  to  know. 

Mrs.  Cresswell,  waiting  for  him,  was  almost  panic- 
stricken.  Probably  he  would  beat  round  the  bush  seeking 
further  encouragement;  but  at  the  slightest  indication 
she  must  crush  him  ruthlessly  and  at  the  same  time 
point  the  path  of  duty.  He  ought  to  marry  some  good 
girl  —  not  Zora,  but  some  one.  Somehow  Zora  seemed  too 


386    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

unusual  and  strange  for  him  —  too  inhuman,  as  Mary 
Cresswell  judged  humanity.  She  glanced  out  from  her 
seat  on  the  upper  verandah  over  the  front  porch  and  saw 
Alwyn  coming.  Where  should  she  receive  him?  On  the 
porch  and  have  Mr.  Maxwell  ride  up?  In  the  parlor 
and  have  the  servants  astounded  and  talking?  If  she 
took  him  up  to  her  own  sitting-room  the  servants  would 
think  he  was  doing  some  work  or  fetching  something  for 
the  school.  She  greeted  him  briefly  and  asked  him  in. 

"  Good-afternoon,  Bles  "  —  using  his  first  name  to 
show  him  his  place,  and  then  inwardly  recoiling  at  its 
note  of  familiarity.  She  preceded  him  up-stairs  to  the 
sitting-room,  where,  leaving  the  door  ajar,  she  seated 
herself  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room  and  waited. 

He  fidgeted,  then  spoke  rapidly. 

"  Mrs.  Cresswell  —  this  is  a  personal  affair."  She 
reddened  angrily.  "  A  love  affair  "  —  she  paled  with 
something  like  fear  —  "  and  I  "  —  she  started  to  speak, 
but  could  not  —  "I  want  to  know  what  you  think  about 
Zora?" 

"  About  Zora !  "  she  gasped  weakly.  The  sudden  re 
action,  the  revulsion  of  her  agitated  feelings,  left  her 
breathless. 

"  About  Zora.     You  know  I  loved  her  dearly  as  a  boy 

—  how  dearly  I  have  only  j  ust  begun  to  realize :  I  've 
been  wondering  if  I  understood- — if  I  wasn't  —  " 

Mrs.  Cresswell  got  angrily  to  her  feet. 

'*  You  have  come  here  to  speak  to  me  of  that  —  that 

—  "  she  choked,  and  Bles  thought  his  worst  fears  realized, 
"  Mary,  Mary !  "  Colonel  Cresswell's  voice  broke  sud 
denly  in  upon  them.     With  a  start  of  fear  Mrs.  Cress- 
well  rushed  out  into  the  hall  and  closed  the  door. 

"  Mary,  has  that  Alwyn  nigger  been  here  this  after- 


THE  RETURN  OF  ALWYN  387 

noon?  "  Mr.  Cresswell  was  corning  up-stairs,  carrying 
his  riding- whip. 

"  Why,  no  1 "  she  answered,  lying  instinctively  before 
she  quite  realized  what  her  lie  meant.  She  hesitated. 
"  That  is,  I  have  n't  seen  him.  I  must  have  nodded  over 
my  book,"  —  looking  toward  the  little  verandah  at  the 
front  of  the  upper  hall,  where  her  easy  chair  stood  with 
her  book.  Then  with  an  awful  flash  of  enlightenment 
she  realized  what  her  lie  might  mean,  and  her  heart 
paused. 

Cresswell  strode  up. 

"  I  saw  him  come  up  —  he  must  have  entered.  He  's 
nowhere  down-stairs,"  he  wavered  and  scowled.  "  Have 
you  been  in  your  sitting-room?  "  And  then,  not  wait 
ing  for  a  reply,  he  strode  to  the  door. 

"  But  the  damned  scoundrel  would  n't  dare !  " 

He  deliberately  placed  his  hand  in  his  right-hand  hip- 
pocket  and  threw  open  the  door. 

Mary  Cresswell  stood  frozen.  The  full  horror  of  the 
thing  burst  upon  her.  Her  own  silly  misapprehension, 
the  infatuation  of  Alwyn  for  Zora,  her  thoughtless  • —  no, 
vindictive  —  betrayal  of  him  to  something  worse  than 
death.  She  listened  for  the  crack  of  doom.  She  heard 
a  bird  singing  far  down  in  the  swamp ;  she  heard  the  soft 
raising  of  a  window  and  the  closing  of  a  door.  And  then 
—  great  God  in  heaven !  must  she  live  forever  in  this 
agony?  —  and  then,  she  heard  the  door  bang  and  Mr. 
Cresswell's  gruff  voice  — 

"  Well,  where  is  he?  —  he  is  n't  in  there !  " 

Mary  Cresswell  felt  that  something  was  giving  way 
within.  She  swayed  and  would  have  crashed  to  the 
bottom  of  the  staircase  if  just  then  she  had  not  seen  at 
the  opposite  end  of  the  hall,  near  the  back  stairs,  Zora 


388   !THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

and  Alwyn  emerge  calmly  from  a  room,  carrying  a  basket 
full  of  clothes.  Colonel  Cresswell  stared  at  them,  and 
Zora  instinctively  put  up  her  hand  and  fastened  her  dress 
at  the  throat.  The  Colonel  scowled,  for  it  was  all  clear 
to  him  now. 

"  Look  here,"  he  angrily  opened  upon  them,  "  if  you 
niggers  want  to  meet  around  keep  out  of  this  house ;  here 
after  I  '11  send  the  clothes  down.  By  God,  if  you  want 
to  make  love  go  to  the  swamp !  "  He  stamped  down  the 
stairs  while  an  ashy  paleness  stole  beneath  the  dark-red 
bronze  of  Zora's  face. 

They  walked  silently  down  the  road  together  —  the 
old  familiar  road.  Alwyn  was  staring  moodily  ahead. 

"  We  must  get  married  —  before  Christmas,  Zora,"  he 
presently  avowed,  not  looking  at  her.  He  felt  the  basket 
pause  and  he  glanced  up.  Her  dark  eyes  were  full  upon 
him  and  he  saw  something  in  their  depths  that  brought 
him  to  himself  and  made  him  realize  his  blunder. 

"  Zora !  "  he  stammered,  "  forgive  me !  Will  you  marry 
me?" 

She  looked  at  him  calmly  with  infinite  compassion.  But 
her  reply  was  uttered  unhesitatingly;  distinct,  direct, 

"  No,  Bles." 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE  COTTON  MILL 

THE  people  of  Toomsville  started  in  their  beds 
and  listened.  A  new  song  was  rising  on  the  air: 
a  harsh,  low,  murmuring  croon  that  shook  the 
village  ranged  around  its  old  square  of  dilapidated 
stores.  It  was  not  a  song  of  joy;  it  was  not  a  song  of 
sorrow;  it  was  not  a  song  at  all,  perhaps,  but  a  con 
fused  whizzing  and  murmuring,  as  of  a  thousand  ill- 
tuned,  busy  voices.  Some  of  the  listeners  wondered;  but 
most  of  the  town  cried  joyfully,  "  It 's  the  new  cotton- 
mill!" 

John  Taylor's  head  teemed  with  new  schemes.  The 
mill  trust  of  the  North  was  at  last  a  fact.  The  small 
mills  had  not  been  able  to  buy  cotton  when  it  was  low 
because  Cresswell  was  cornering  it  in  the  name  of  the 
Farmers'  League;  now  that  it  was  high  they  could  not 
afford  to,  and  many  surrendered  to  the  trust. 

"  Next  thing,"  wrote  Taylor  to  Easterly,  "  is  to  re 
duce  cost  of  production.  Too  much  goes  in  wages. 
Gradually  transfer  mills  South." 

Easterly  argued  that  the  labor  was  too  unskilled  in 
the  South  and  that  to  send  Northern  spinners  down  would 
spread  labor  troubles.  Taylor  replied  briefly :  "  Never 
fear ;  we  '11  scare  them  with  a  vision  of  niggers  in  the 
mills!" 

[389] 


390   LTHE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

Colonel  Cressvvell  was  not  so  easily  won  over  to  the 
new  scheme.  In  the  first  place  he  was  angry  because  the 
school,  which  he  had  come  to  regard  as  on  its  last  legs, 
somehow  still  continued  to  flourish.  The  ten-thousand- 
dollar  mortgage  had  but  three  more  years,  and  that  would 
end  all ;  but  he  had  hoped  for  a  crash  even  earlier.  Instead 
of  this,  Miss  Smith  was  cheerfully  expanding  the  work, 
hiring  new  teachers,  and  especially  she  had  brought  to  help 
her  two  young  Negroes  whom  he  suspected.  Colonel 
Cresswell  had  prevented  the  Tolliver  land  sale,  only  to  be 
inveigled  himself  into  Zora's  scheme  which  now  began  to 
worry  him.  He  must  evict  Zora's  tenants  as  soon  as  the 
crops  were  planted  and  harvested.  There  was  nothing 
unjust  about  such  a  course,  he  argued,  for  Negroes  any 
way  were  too  lazy  and  shiftless  to  buy  the  land.  They 
would  not,  they  could  not,  work  without  driving.  All 
this  he  imparted  to  John  Taylor,  to  which  that  gentle 
man  listened  carefully. 

"  H'm,  I  see,"  he  owned.     "  And  I  know  the  way  out." 

"How?" 

"  A  cotton  mill  in  Toomsville." 

"  What 's  that  got  to  do  with  it?  " 

"  Bring  in  whites." 

"  But  I  don't  want  poor  white  trash ;  I  'd  sooner  have 
niggers." 

"  Now,  see  here,"  argued  Taylor,  "  you  can't  have 
everything  you  want  —  day 's  gone  by  for  aristocracy 
of  old  kind.  You  must  have  neighbors:  choose,  then, 
white  or  black.  I  say  white." 

"  But  they  '11  rule  us  —  out-vote  us  —  marry  our 
daughters,"  warmly  objected  the  Colonel. 

"  Some  of  them  may  —  most  of  them  won't.  A  few 
of  them  with  brains  will  help  us  rule  the  rest  with  money. 


THE  COTTON  MILL  Ml 

We  '11  plant  cotton  mills  beside  the  cotton  fields,  use 
whites  to  keep  niggers  in  their  place,  and  the  fear  of 
niggers  to  keep  the  poorer  whites  in  theirs. 

The  Colonel  looked  thoughtful. 

"  There 's  something  in  that,"  he  confessed  after  a 
while ;  "  but  it  Js  a  mighty  big  experiment,  and  it  may  go 
awry." 

"  Not  with  brains  and  money  to  guide  it.  And  at  any 
rate,  we  've  got  to  try  it ;  it 's  the  next  logical  step,  and 
we  must  take  it." 

"  But  in  the  meantime,  I  'm  not  going  to  give  up 
good  old  methods ;  I  'm  going  to  set  the  sheriff  behind 
these  lazy  niggers,"  said  the  Colonel ;  "  and  I  'm  going 
to  stop  that  school  putting  notions  into  their  heads." 

In  three  short  months  the  mill  at  Toomsville  was 
open  and  its  wheels  whizzing  to  the  boundless  pride  of 
the  citizens. 

"  Our  enterprise,  sir !  "  they  said  to  the  strangers  on 
the  strength  of  the  five  thousand  dollars  locally  invested, 

Once  it  had  vigor  to  sing,  the  song  of  the  mill  knew 
no  resting ;  morning  and  evening,  day  and  night  it  crooned 
its  rhythmic  tune;  only  during  the  daylight  Sundays  did 
its  murmur  die  to  a  sibilant  hiss.  All  the  week  its  doors 
were  filled  with  the  coming  and  going  of  men  and 
women  and  children :  many  men,  more  women,  and  greater 
and  greater  throngs  of  children.  It  seemed  to  devour 
children,  sitting  with  its  myriad  eyes  gleaming  and  its 
black  maw  open,  drawing  in  the  pale  white  mites,  suck 
ing  their  blood  and  spewing  them  out  paler  and  ever  paler. 
The  face  of  the  town  began  to  change,  showing  a  ragged 
tuberculous  looking  side  with  dingy  homes  in  short  and 
homely  rows. 

There  came  gradually  a  new  consciousness  to  the  town. 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

Hitherto  town  and  country  had  been  ruled  by  a  few  great 
landlords  but  at  the  very  first  election,  Coiton,  an  un 
known  outsider,  had  beaten  the  regular  candidate  for 
sheriff  by  such  a  majority  that  the  big  property  owners 
dared  not  count  him  out.  They  had,  however,  an  earnest 
consultation  with  John  Taylor. 

"It's  just  as  I  said,"  growled  Colonel  Cresswell,  "if 
you  don't  watch  out  our  whole  plantation  system  will  be 
ruined  and  we  '11  be  governed  by  this  white  trash  from 
the  hills." 

"  There 's  only  one  way,"  sighed  Caldwell,  the  mer 
chant  ;  "  we  've  got  to  vote  the  niggers." 

John  Taylor  laughed.  "  Nonsense !  "  he  spurned  the 
suggestion.  "  You  're  old-fashioned.  Let  the  mill-hands 
have  the  offices.  What  good  will  it  do  ?  " 

"  What  good !  Why,  they  '11  do  as  they  please  with 
us." 

"  Bosh !  Don't  we  own  the  mill  ?  Can't  we  keep  wages 
where  we  like  by  threatening  to  bring  in  nigger  labor?  " 

"  No,  you  can't,  permanently,"  Maxwell  disputed,  "  for 
they  sometime  will  call  your  bluff." 

"  Let  'em  call,"  said  Taylor,  "  and  we  '11  put  niggers 
in  the  mills." 

"What!"  ejaculated  the  landlords  in  chorus.  Only 
Maxwell  was  silent.  "  And  kill  the  plantation  system  ?  " 

"  Oh,  maybe  some  time,  of  course.  But  not  for  years ; 
not  until  you  Ve  made  your  pile.  You  don't  really  ex 
pect  to  keep  the  darkies  down  forever,  do  you  ?  " 

"No,  I  don't,"  Maxwell  slowly  admitted.  "This 
system  can't  last  always  —  sometimes  I  think  it  can't  last 
long.  It 's  wrong,  through  and  through.  It 's  built  on 
ignorance,  theft,  and  force,  and  I  wish  to  God  we  had 
courage  enough  to  overthrow  it  and  take  the  conse- 


THE  COTTON  MILL 

...  »\  i. 

quences.  I  wish  it  was  possible  to  be  a  Southerner  and  a 
Christian  and  an  honest  man,  to  treat  niggers  and  dagoes 
and  white  trash  like  men,  and  be  big  enough  to  say,  '  To 
Hell  with  consequences ! ' 

Colonel  Cresswell  stared  at  his  neighbor,  speechless 
with  bewilderment  and  outraged  traditions.  Such  un 
believable  heresy  from  a  Northerner  or  a  Negro  would 
have  been  natural;  but  from  a  Southerner  whose  father 
had  owned  five  hundred  slaves  —  it  was  incredible !  The 
other  landlords  scarcely  listened;  they  were  dogged  and 
impatient  and  they  could  suggest  no  remedy.  They  could 
only  blame  the  mill  for  their  troubles. 

John  Taylor  left  the  conference  blithely.  "  No,"  he 
said  to  the  committee  from  the  new  mill-workers'  union. 
"  Can't  raise  wages,  gentlemen,  and  can't  lessen  hours. 
Mill  is  just  started  and  not  yet  paying  expenses.  You  're 
getting  better  wages  than  you  ever  got.  If  you  don't 
want  to  work,  quit.  There  are  plenty  of  others,  white  and 
black,  who  want  your  jobs." 

The  mention  of  black  people  as  competitors  for  wages 
was  like  a  red  rag  to  a  bull.  The  laborers  got  together 
and  at  the  next  election  they  made  a  clean  sweep,  judge, 
sheriff,  two  members  of  the  legislature,  and  the  registrars 
of  votes.  Undoubtedly  the  following  year  they  would 
capture  Harry  Cresswell's  seat  in  Congress. 

The  result  was  curious.  From  two  sides,  from  land 
lord  and  white  laborer,  came  renewed  oppression  of  black  * 
men.  The  laborers  found  that  their  political  power  gave 
them  little  economic  advantage  as  long  as  the  threaten 
ing  cloud  of  Negro  competition  loomed  ahead.  There  was 
some  talk  of  a  strike,  but  Colton,  the  new  sheriff,  dis 
couraged  it. 

"  I  tell  you,  boys,  where  the  trouble  lies :  it 's  the  nig- 


394    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

gers.  They  live  on  nothing  and  take  any  kind  of  treat 
ment,  and  they  keep  wages  down.  If  you  strike,  they  '11 
get  your  jobs,  sure.  We'll  just  have  to  grin  and 
bear  it  a  while,  but  get  back  at  the  darkies  whenever 
you  can.  I  '11  stick  'em  into  the  chain-gang  every  chance 
I  get." 

On  the  other  hand,  inspired  by  fright,  the  grip  of  the 
landlords  on  the  black  serfs  closed  with  steadily  increas 
ing  firmness.  They  saw  one  class  rising  from  beneath 
them  to  power,  and  they  tightened  the  chains  on  the 
other.  Matters  simmered  on  in  this  way,  and  the  only 
party  wholly  satisfied  with  conditions  was  John  Taylor 
and  the  few  young  Southerners  who  saw  through  his  eyes. 
He  was  making  money.  The  landlords,  on  the  contrary, 
were  losing  power  and  prestige,  and  their  farm  labor,  de 
spite  strenuous  efforts,  was  drifting  to  town  attracted  by 
new  and  incidental  work  and  higher  wages.  The  mill- 
hands  were  more  and  more  overworked  and  underpaid, 
and  hated  the  Negroes  for  it  in  accordance  with  their 
leaders'  directions. 

At  the  same  time  the  oppressed  blacks  and  scowling 
mill  hands  could  not  help  recurring  again  and  again  to 
the  same  inarticulate  thought  which  no  one  was  brave 
enough  to  voice.  Once,  however,  it  came  out  flatly.  It 
was  when  Zora,  crowding  into  the  village  court-house  to 
see  if  she  could  not  help  Aunt  Rachel's  accused  boy,  found 
herself  beside  a  gaunt,  overworked  white  woman.  The 
woman  was  struggling  with  a  crippled  child  and  Zora, 
turning,  lifted  him  carefully  for  the  weak  mother,  who 
thanked  her  half  timidly.  "That  mill's  about  killed 
him,"  she  said. 

At  this  juncture  the  manacled  boy  was  led  into  court, 
and  the  woman  suddenly  turned  again  to  Zora. 


THE  COTTON  MILL  Jiitf 

"  Durned  if  I  don't  think  these  white  slaves  and  black 
slaves  had  ought  ter  git  together,"  she  declared. 

"  I  think  so,  too,"  Zora  agreed. 

Colonel  Cresswell  himself  caught  the  conversation  and 
it  struck  him  with  a  certain  disma}r.  Suppose  such  a  con 
junction  should  come  to  pass?  He  edged  over  to  John 
Taylor  and  spoke  to  him;  but  Taylor,  who  had  just  suc 
cessfully  stopped  a  suit  for  damages  to  the  injured  boy, 
merely  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  What 's  this  nigger  charged  with  ?  "  demanded  the 
Judge  when  the  first  black  boy  was  brought  up  before 
him. 

"  Breaking  his  labor  contract." 

"  Any  witnesses  ?  " 

"  I  have  the  contract  here,"  announced  the  sheriff. 
"  He  refuses  to  work." 

"  A  year,  or  one  hundred  dollars." 

Colonel  Cresswell  paid  his  fine,  and  took  him  in  charge. 

"What's  the  charge  here?"  said  the  Judge,  pointing 
to  Aunt  Rachel's  boy. 

"  Attempt  to  kill  a  white  man." 

"  Any  witnesses  ?  " 

"  None  except  the  victim." 

"  And  I,"  said  Zora,  coming  forward. 

Both  the  sheriff  and  Colonel  Cresswell  stared  at  her. 
Of  course,  she  was  simply  a  black  girl  but  she  was  an 
educated  woman,  who  knew  things  about  the  Cresswell 
plantations  that  it  was  unnecessary  to  air  in  court.  The 
newly  elected  Judge  had  not  yet  taken  his  seat,  and 
Cresswell's  word  was  still  law  in  the  court.  He  whispered 
to  the  Judge. 

"  Case  postponed,"  said  the  Court. 

The  sheriff  scowled. 


396    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  Wait  till  Jim  gets  on  the  bench,"  he  growled. 

The  white  bystanders,  however,  did  not  seem  enthu 
siastic  and  one  man  —  he  was  a  Northern  spinner- — 
spoke  out  plainly. 

"  It 's  none  o'  my  business,  of  course.  I  've  been  fired 
and  I  'm  damned  glad  of  it.  But  see  here :  if  you  mutts 
think  you  're  going  to  beat  these  big  blokes  at  their  own 
game  of  cheating  niggers  you  're  daffy.  You  take  this 
from  me:  get  together  with  the  niggers  and  hold  up  this 
whole  capitalist  gang.  If  you  do  n't  get  the  niggers  first, 
they  '11  use  'em  as  a  club  to  throw  you  down.  You  hear 
me"  and  he  departed  for  the  train. 

Colton  was  suspicious.  The  sentiment  of  joining  with 
the  Negroes  did  not  seem  to  arouse  the  bitter  resentment 
he  expected.  There  even  came  whispers  to  his  ears  that 
he  had  sold  out  to  the  landlords,  and  there  was  enough 
truth  in  the  report  to  scare  him.  Thus  to  both  parties 
came  the  uncomfortable  spectre  of  the  black  men,  and 
both  sides  went  to  work  to  lay  the  ghost. 

Particularly  was  Colonel  Cresswell  stirred  to  action. 
He  realized  that  in  Bles  and  Zora  he  was  dealing  with  a 
younger  class  of  educated  black  folk,  who  were  learning 
to  fight  with  new  weapons.  They  were,  he  was  sure,  as 
dissolute  and  weak  as  their  parents,  but  they  were 
shrewder  and  more  aspiring.  They  must  be  crushed,  and 
crushed  quickly.  To  this  end  he  had  recourse  to  two 
sources  of  help  —  Johnson  and  the  whites  in  town. 

Johnson  was  what  Colonel  Cresswell  repeatedly  called 
"  a  faithful  nigger."  He  was  one  of  those  constitution 
ally  timid  creatures  into  whom  the  servility  of  his  fathers 
had  sunk  so  deep  that  it  had  become  second-nature.  To 
him  a  white  man  was  an  archangel,  while  the  Cresswells, 
his  father's  masters,  stood  for  God.  He  served  them  with 


THE  COTTON  MILL  397 

dog-like  faith,  asking  no  reward,  and  for  what  he  gave  in 
reverence  to  them,  he  took  back  in  contempt  for  his  fel 
lows  —  "  niggers  !  "  He  applied  the  epithet  with  more 
contempt  than  the  Colonel  himself  could  express.  To  the 
Negroes  he  was  a  "  white  folk's  nigger,"  to  be  despised 
and  feared. 

To  him  Colonel  Cresswell  gave  a  few  pregnant  direc 
tions.  Then  he  rode  to  town,  and  told  Taylor  again  of 
his  fears  of  a  labor  movement  which  would  include  whites 
and  blacks.  Taylor  could  not  see  any  great  danger. 

"  Of  course,"  he  conceded,  "  they  '11  eventually  get  to 
gether  ;  their  interests  are  identical.  I  '11  admit  it 's  our 
game  to  delay  this  as  long  possible." 

"  It  must  be  delayed  forever,  sir." 

"  Can't  be,"  was  the  terse  response.  "  But  even  if  they 
do  ally  themselves,  our  way  is  easy:  separate  the  leaders, 
the  talented,  the  pushers,  of  both  races  from  their  masses, 
and  through  them  rule  the  rest  by  money." 

But  Colonel  Cresswell  shook  his  head.  "  It 's  precisely 
these  leaders  of  the  Negroes  that  we  must  crush,"  he  in 
sisted.  Taylor  looked  puzzled. 

"  I  thought  it  was  the  lazy,  shiftless,  and  criminal 
Negroes,  you  feared?  " 

"  Hang  it,  no !  We  can  deal  with  them ;  we  've  got 
whips,  chain-gangs,  and  —  mobs,  if  need  be  —  no,  it  *s 
the  Negro  who  wants  to  climb  up  that  we  've  got  to  beat 
to  his  knees." 

Taylor  could  not  follow  this  reasoning.  He  believed  in  V 
an  aristocracy  of  talent  alone,  and  secretly  despised 
Colonel  Cresswell's  pretensions  of  birth.  If  a  man  had 
ability  and  push  Taylor  was  willing  and  anxious  to  open 
the  way  for  him,  even  though  he  were  black.  The  caste 
way  of  thinking  in  the  South,  both  as  applied  to  poor 


398   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

whites  and  to  Negroes,  he  simply  could  not  understand. 
The  weak  and  the  ignorant  of  all  races  he  despised  and 
had  no  patience  with  them.  "  But  others  —  a  man  's  a 
man,  isn't  he?"  he  persisted.  But  Colonel  Cresswell 
replied : 

"  No,  never,  if  he  's  black,  and  not  always  when  he  Js 
white,"  and  he  stalked  away. 

Zora  sensed  fully  the  situation.  She  did  not  anticipate 
any  immediate  understanding  with  the  laboring  whites, 
but  she  knew  that  eventually  it  would  be  inevitable. 
Meantime  the  Negro  must  strengthen  himself  and  bring 
to  the  alliance  as  much  independent  economic  strength  as 
possible.  For  the  development  of  her  plans  she  needed 
Bles  Alwyn's  constant  cooperation.  He  was  business 
manager  of  the  school  and  was  doing  well,  but  she  wanted 
to  point  out  to  him  the  larger  field.  So  long  as  she  was 
uncertain  of  his  attitude  toward  her,  it  was  difficult  to 
act;  but  now,  since  the  flash  of  the  imminent  tragedy  at 
Cresswell  Oaks  had  cleared  the  air,  with  all  its  hurt  a 
frank  understanding  had  been  made  possible.  The  very 
next  day  Zora  chose  to  show  Bles  over  her  new  home  and 
grounds,  and  to  speak  frankly  to  him.  They  looked  at 
the  land,  examined  the  proposed  farm  sites,  and  viewed 
the  living-room  and  dormitory  in  the  house. 

"  You  have  n't  seen  my  den,"  said  Zora. 

"  No." 

"  Miss  Smith  is  in  there  now ;  she  often  hides  there. 
Come." 

He  went  into  the  large  central  house  and  into  the  living- 
room,  then  out  on  the  porch,  beyond  which  lay  the 
kitchen.  But  to  the  left,  and  at  the  end  of  the  porch, 
was  a  small  building.  It  was  ceiled  in  dark  yellow  pine, 


THE  COTTON  MILL 

with  figured  denim  on  the  walls.  A  straight  desk  of 
rough  hewn  wood  stood  in  the  corner  by  the  white- 
curtained  window,  and  a  couch  and  two  large  easy-chairs 
faced  a  tall  narrow  fireplace  of  uneven  stone.  A  thick 
green  rag-carpet  covered  the  floor;  a  few  pictures  were 
on  the  walls  —  a  Madonna,  a  scene  of  mad  careering 
horses,  and  some  sad  baby  faces.  The  room  was  a  unity ; 
things  fitted  together  as  if  they  belonged  together.  It 
was  restful  and  beautiful,  from  the  cheerful  pine  blaze 
before  which  Miss  Smith  was  sitting,  to  the  square-paned 
window  that  let  in  the  crimson  rays  of  gathering  night. 
All  round  the  room,  stopping  only  at  the  fireplace,  ran 
low  shelves  of  the  same  yellow  pine,  filled  with  books  and 
magazines.  He  scanned  curiously  Plato's  Republic,  Gorky's 
"  Comrades,"  a  Cyclopaedia  of  Agriculture,  Balzac's 
novels,  Spencer's  "First  Principles,"  Tennyson's  Poems. 

"  This  is  my  university,"  Zora  explained,  smiling  at  his 
interested  survey.  They  went  out  again  and  wandered 
down  near  the  old  lagoon. 

"  Now,  Bles,"  she  began,  w  since  we  understand  each 
other,  can  we  not  work  together  as  good  friends  ?  "  She 
spoke  simply  and  frankly,  without  apparent  effort,  and 
talked  on  at  length  of  her  work  and  vision. 

Somehow  he  could  not  understand.  His  mental  atti 
tude  toward  Zora  had  always  been  one  of  guidance, 
guardianship,  and  instruction.  He  had  been  judging  and 
weighing  her  from  on  high,  looking  down  upon  her  with 
thoughts  of  uplift  and  development.  Always  he  hod  been 
holding  her  dark  littie  hands  to  lead  her  out  of  the  swamp 
of  life,  and  always,  when  in  senseless  anger  he  had  half 
forgotten  and  deserted  her,  this  vision  of  elder  brother 
hood  had  still  remained.  Now  this  attitude  was  being 


400    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

revolutionized.  She  was  proposing  to  him  a  plan  of  wide 
scope  —  a  bold  regeneration  of  the  land.  It  was  a  plan 
carefully  studied  out,  long  thought  of  and  read  about. 
He  was  asked  to  be  co-worker  —  nay,  in  a  sense  to  be  a 
follower,  for  he  was  ignorant  of  much. 

He  hesitated.  Then  all  at  once  a  sense  of  his  utter 
unworthiness  overwhelmed  him.  Who  was  he  to  stand 
and  judge  this  unselfish  woman?  Who  was  he  to  falter 
when  she  called?  A  sense  of  his  smallness  and  narrow 
ness,  of  his  priggish  blindness,  rose  like  a  mockery  in  his 
soul.  One  thing  alone  held  him  back:  he  was  not  un 
willing  to  be  simply  human,  a  learner  and  a  follower;  but 
would  he  as  such  ever  command  the  love  and  respect  of 
this  new  and  inexplicable  woman?  Would  not  comrade 
ship  on  the  basis  of  the  new  friendship  which  she  insisted 
on,  be  the  death  of  love  and  thoughts  of  love? 

Thus  he  hesitated,  knowing  that  his  duty  lay  clear.  In 
her  direst  need  he  had  deserted  her.  He  had  left  her  to 
go  to  destruction  and  expected  that  she  would.  By  a 
superhuman  miracle  she  had  risen  and  seated  herself  above 
him.  She  was  working;  here  was  work  to  be  done.  He 
was  asked  to  help ;  he  would  help.  If  it  killed  his  old  and 
new-born  dream  of  love,  well  and  good ;  it  was  his 
punishment. 

Yet  the  sacrifice,  the  readjustment  was  hard;  he  grew 
to  it  gradually,  inwardly  revolting,  feeling  always  a 
great  longing  to  take  this  woman  and  make  her  nestle  in 
his  arms  as  she  used  to ;  catching  himself  again  and  again 
on  the  point  of  speaking  to  her  and  urging,  yet  ever  again 
holding  himself  back  and  bowing  in  silent  respect  to  the 
dignity  of  her  life.  Only  now  and  then,  when  their  eyes 
met  suddenly  or  unthinkingly,  a  great  kindling  flash  of 


THE  COTTON  MILL  401 

flame  seemed  struggling  behind  showers  of  tears,  until  in 
a  moment  she  smiled  or  spoke,  and  then  the  dropping  veil 
left  only  the  frank  open  glance,  unwavering,  soft,  kind, 
but  nothing  more.  Then  Alwyn  would  go  wearily  away, 
vexed  or  disappointed,  or  merely  sad,  and  both  would 
turn  to  their  work  again. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

THE  LAND 

COLONEL  CRESSWELL  started  all  the  more 
grimly  to  overthrow  the  new  work  at  the  school 
because  somewhere  down  beneath  his  heart  a  pity 
and  a  wonder  were  stirring;  pity  at  the  perfectly  useless 
struggle  to  raise  the  unraisable,  a  wonder  at  certain  signs 
of  rising.  But  it  was  impossible  —  and  unthinkable, 
even  if  possible.  So  he  squared  his  jaw  and  cheated  Zora 
deliberately  in  the  matter  of  the  cut  timber.  He  placed 
every  obstacle  in  the  way  of  getting  tenants  for  the  school 
land.  Here  Johnson,  the  "  faithful  nigger,"  was  of  in 
calculable  assistance.  He  was  among  the  first  to  hear  the 
call  for  prospective  tenants. 

The  meeting  was  in  the  big  room  of  Zora's  house,  and 
Aunt  Rachel  came  early  with  her  cheery  voice  and  smile 
which  faded  so  quickly  to  lines  of  sorrow  and  despair, 
and  then  twinkled  back  again.  After  her  hobbled  old 
Sykes.  Fully  a  half-hour  later  Rob  hurried  in. 

"  Johnson,"  he  informed  the  others,  "  has  sneaked  over 
to  Cresswell's  to  tell  of  this  meeting.  We  ought  to  beat 
that  nigger  up."  But  Zora  asked  him  about  the  new 
baby,  and  he  was  soon  deep  in  child-lore.  Higgins  and 
Sanders  came  together  —  dirty,  apologetic,  and  furtive* 
Then  came  Johnson. 

[402] 


THE  LAND  403 

"  How  do,  Miss  Zora  —  Mr.  Alwyn,  I  sure  is  glad  to 
see  you,  sir.  Well,  if  there  ain't  Aunt  Rachel!  looking 
as  young  as  ever.  And  Higgins,  you  scamp  —  Ah,  Mr. 
Sanders  —  well,  gentlemen  and  ladies,  this  sure  is  gwine 
to  be  a  good  cotton  season.  I  remember  —  And  he  ran 
on  endlessly,  now  to  this  one,  now  to  that,  now  to  all,  his  lit 
tle  eyes  all  the  while  dancing  insinuatingly  here  and  there. 
About  nine  o'clock  a  buggy  drove  up  and  Carter  and 
Simpson  came  in  —  Carter,  a  silent,  strong-faced,  brown 
laborer,  who  listened  and  looked,  and  Simpson,  a  worried 
nervous  man,  who  sat  still  with  difficulty  and  commenced 
many  sentences  but  did  not  finish  them.  Alwyn  looked  at 
his  watch  and  at  Zora,  but  she  gave  no  sign  until  they 
heard  a  rollicking  song  outside  and  Tylor  burst  into  the 
room.  He  was  nearly  seven  feet  high  and  broad-shoul 
dered,  yellow,  with  curling  hair  and  laughing  brown  eyes. 
He  was  chewing  an  enormous  quid  of  tobacco,  the  juice 
of  which  he  distributed  generously,  and  had  had  just 
liquor  enough  to  make  him  jolly.  His  entrance  was  a 
breeze  and  a  roar. 

Alwyn  then  undertook  to  explain  the  land  scheme. 

"  It  is  the  best  land  in  the  county  —  " 

"  When  it 's  cl'ared,"  interrupted  Johnson,  and  Simp 
son  looked  alarmed. 

"  It  is  partially  cleared,"  continued  Alwyn,  "  and  our 
plan  is  to  sell  off  small  twenty-acre  farms  —  " 

"  You  can't  do  nothing  on  twenty  acres  — "  began 
Johnson,  but  Tylor  laid  his  huge  hand  right  over  his 
mouth  and  said  briefly: 

"Shut  up!" 

Alwyn  started  again:  "We  shall  sell  a  few  twenty- 
acre  farms  but  keep  one  central  plantation  of  one  hun 
dred  acres  for  the  school.  Here  Miss  Zora  will  carry  on 


404    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

her  work  and  the  school  will  run  a  model  farm  with  your 
help.  We  want  to  centre  here  agencies  to  make  life  bet 
ter.  We  want  all  sorts  of  industries ;  we  want  a  little 
hospital  with  a  resident  physician  and  two  or  three 
nurses ;  we  want  a  cooperative  store  for  buying  supplies ; 
we  want  a  cotton-gin  and  saw-mill,  and  in  the  future  other 
things.  This  land  here,  as  I  have  said,  is  the  richest 
around.  We  want  to  keep  this  hundred  acres  for  the 
public  good,  and  not  sell  it.  We  are  going  to  deed  it  to 
a  board  of  trustees,  and  those  trustees  are  to  be  chosen 
from  the  ones  who  buy  the  small  farms." 

"  Who  's  going  to  get  what 's  made  on  this  land  ?  " 
asked  Sanders. 

"  All  of  us.  It  is  going  first  to  pay  for  the  land,  then 
to  support  the  Home  and  the  School,  and  then  to  furnish 
capital  for  industries." 

Johnson  snickered.  "  You  mean  youse  gwine  to  git 
yo'  livin'  off  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Alwyn ;  "  but  I  'm  going  to  work  for 
it." 

"  Who 's  gwine  — "  began  Simpson,  but  stopped 
helplessly. 

"  Who  's  going  to  tend  this  land?  "  asked  the  practical 
Carter. 

"  All  of  us.  Each  man  is  going  to  promise  us  so  many 
days'  work  a  year,  and  we  're  going  to  ask  others  to  help 
—  the  women  and  girls  and  school  children  —  they  will 
all  help." 

"  Can  you  put  trust  in  that  sort  of  help?  " 

"  We  can  when  once  the  community  learns  that  it  pays." 

"Does  you  own  the  land?"  asked  Johnson  suddenly. 

"  No ;  we  're  buying  it,  and  it 's  part  paid  for  already." 

The    discussion    became    general.      Zora    moved    about 


THE  LAND  405 

among  the  men  whispering  and  explaining;  while  John 
son  moved,  too,  objecting  and  hinting.  At  last  he  arose. 

"  Brethren,"  he  began,  "  the  plan  's  good  enough  for 
talkin'  but  you  can't  work  it ;  who  ever  heer'd  tell  of  such 
a  thing?  First  place,  the  land  ain't  yours;  second  place, 
you  can't  get  it  worked;  third  place,  white  folks  won't 
'low  it.  Who  ever  heer'd  of  such  working  land  on 
shares?  " 

"  You  do  it  for  white  folks  each  day,  why  not  for  your 
selves,"  Alwyn  pointed  out. 

"  'Cause  we  ain't  white,  and  we  can't  do  nothin'  like 
that." 

Tylor  was  asleep  and  snoring  and  the  others  looked 
doubtfully  at  each  other.  It  was  a  proposal  a  little  too 
daring  for  them,  a  bit  too  far  beyond  their  experience. 
One  consideration  alone  kept  them  from  shrinking  away 
and  that  was  Zora's  influence.  Not  a  man  was  there  whom 
she  had  not  helped  and  encouraged  nor  who  had  not  per 
fect  faith  in  her;  in  her  impetuous  hope,  her  deep  en 
thusiasm,  and  her  strong  will.  Even  her  defects  —  the 
hard-held  temper,  the  deeply  rooted  dislikes  — -  caught 
their  imagination. 

Finally,  after  several  other  meetings  five  men  took 
courage  —  three  of  the  best  and  two  of  the  weakest. 
During  the  Spring  long  negotiations  were  entered  into  by 
Miss  Smith  to  "  buy  "  the  five  men.  Colonel  Cresswell 
and  Mr.  Tolliver  had  them  all  charged  with  large  sums 
of  indebtedness  and  these  sums  had  to  be  assumed  by  the 
school.  As  Colonel  Cresswell  counted  over  two  thousand 
dollars  of  school  notes  and  deposited  them  beside  the  mort 
gage  he  smiled  grimly  for  he  saw  the  end.  Yet,  even  then 
his  hand  trembled  and  that  curious  doubt  came  creeping 
back.  He  put  it  aside  angrily  and  glanced  up. 


406    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  Nigger  wants  to  talk  with  you,"  announced  his  clerk. 

The  Colonel  sauntered  out  and  found  Bles  Alwyn 
waiting. 

"  Colonel  Cresswell,"  he  said,  "  I  have  charge  of  the 
buying  for  the  school  and  our  tenants  this  year  and  I 
naturally  want  to  do  the  best  possible.  I  thought  I  'd 
come  over  and  see  about  getting  my  supplies  at  your 
store." 

'  That 's  all  right ;  you  can  get  anything  you  want," 
said  Colonel  Cresswell  cheerily,  for  this  to  his  mind  was 
evidence  of  sense  on  the  part  of  the  Negroes.  Bles  showed 
his  list  of  needed  supplies  —  seeds,  meat,  corn-meal, 
coffee,  sugar,  etc.  The  Colonel  glanced  over  it  carelessly, 
then  moved  away. 

"  All  right.  Come  and  get  what  you  want  —  any 
time,"  he  called  back. 

"  But  about  the  prices,"  said  Alwyn,  following  him. 

"  Oh,  they  '11  be  all  right." 

"  Of  course.  But  what  I  want  is  an  estimate  of  your 
lowest  cash  prices." 

"Cash?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Cresswell  thought  a  while ;  such  a  business-like  proposi 
tion  from  Negroes  surprised  him. 

"  Well,  I  '11  let  you  know,"  he  said. 

It  was  nearly  a  week  later  before  Alwyn  approached 
him  again. 

"  Now,  see  here,"  said  Colonel  Cresswell,  "  there 's 
practically  no  difference  between  cash  and  time  prices. 
We  buy  our  stock  on  time  and  you  can  just  as  well  take 
advantage  of  this  as  not.  I  have  figured  out  about  what 
these  things  will  cost.  The  best  thing  for  you  to  do  is 
to  make  a  deposit  here  and  get  things  when  you  want 


THE  LAND  407 

them.  If  you  make  a  good  deposit  I  '11  throw  off  ten  per 
cent,  which  is  all  of  my  profit." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Alwyn,  but  he  looked  over  the  ac 
count  and  found  the  whole  bill  at  least  twice  as  large  as 
he  expected.  Without  further  parley,  he  made  some  ex 
cuse  and  started  to  town  while  Mr.  Cresswell  went  to  the 
telephone. 

In  town  Alwyn  went  to  all  the  chief  merchants  one 
after  another  and  received  to  his  great  surprise  prac 
tically  the  same  estimate.  He  could  not  understand  it. 
He  had  estimated  the  current  market  prices  according  to 
the  Montgomery  paper,  yet  the  prices  in  Toombsville 
were  fifty  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  per  cent  higher.  The 
merchant  to  whom  he  went  last,  laughed. 

"  Don't  you  know  we  're  not  going  to  interfere  with 
Colonel  Cresswell's  tenants?  "  He  stated  the  dealers'  at 
titude,  and  Alwyn  saw  light.  He  went  home  and  told 
Zora,  and  she  listened  without  surprise. 

"  Now  to  business,"  she  said  briskly.  "  Miss  Smith," 
turning  to  the  teacher,  "  as  I  told  you,  they  're  combined 
against  us  in  town  and  we  must  buy  in  Montgomery.  I 
was  sure  it  was  coming,  but  I  wanted  to  give  Colonel 
Cresswell  every  chance.  Bles  starts  for  Montgomery  ^—  " 

Alwyn  looked  up.     "  Does  he?  "  he  asked,  smiling. 

"  Yes,"  said  Zora,  smiling  in  turn.  "  We  must  lose 
no  further  time." 

"  But  there  's  no  train  from  Toombsville  to-night." 

"  But  there 's  one  from  Barton  in  the  morning  and 
Barton  is  only  twenty  miles  away." 

"  It  is  a  long  walk."  Alwyn  thought  a  while,  silently. 
Then  he  rose.  "  I  'm  going,"  he  said.  "  Good-bye." 

In  less  than  a  week  the  storehouse  was  full,  and  ten 
ants  were  at  work.  The  twenty  acres  of  cleared  swamp 


408    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

land,  attended  to  by  the  voluntary  labor  of  all  the  tenants, 
was  soon  bearing  a  magnificent  crop.  Colonel  Cresswell 
inspected  all  the  crops  daily  with  a  proprietary  air  that 
would  have  been  natural  had  these  folk  been  simply  ten 
ants,  and  as  such  he  persisted  in  regarding  them. 

The  cotton  now  growing  was  perhaps  not  so  uniformly 
fine  as  the  first  acre  of  Silver  Fleece,  but  it  was  of  un 
usual  height  and  thickness. 

"  At  least  a  bale  to  the  acre,"  Alwyn  estimated,  and 
the  Colonel  mentally  determined  to  take  two-thirds  of  the 
crop.  After  that  he  decided  that  he  would  evict  Zora 
immediately ;  since  sufficient  land  was  cleared  already  for 
his  purposes  and  moreover,  he  had  seen  with  consterna 
tion  a  herd  of  cattle  grazing  in  one  field  on  some  early 
green  stuff,  and  heard  a  drove  of  hogs  in  the  swamp. 
Such  an  example  before  the  tenants  of  the  Black  Belt 
would  be  fatal.  He  must  wait  a  few  weeks  for  them  to  pick 
the  cotton  —  then,  the  end.  He  was  fighting  the  battle  of 
his  color  and  caste. 

The  children  sang  merrily  in  the  brown-white  field.  The 
wide  baskets,  poised  aloft,  foamed  on  the  erect  and 
swaying  bodies  of  the  dark  carriers.  The  crop  through 
out  the  land  was  short  that  year,  for  prices  had  ruled  low 
last  season  in  accordance  with  the  policy  of  the  Combine, 
This  year  they  started  high  again.  Would  they  fall? 
Many  thought  so  and  hastened  to  sell. 

Zora  and  Alwyn  gathered  their  tenants'  crops,  ginned 
them  at  the  Cresswells'  gin,  and  carried  their  cotton  to 
town,  where  it  was  deposited  in  the  warehouse  of  the 
Farmers'  League. 

"  Now,"  said  Alwyn,  "  we  would  best  sell  while  prices 
are  high." 

Zora  laughed  at  him  frankly. 


THE  LAND  409 

"  We  can't,"  she  said.  "  Do  n't  you  know  that  Colonel 
Cresswell  will  attach  our  cotton  for  rent  as  soon  as  it 
touches  the  warehouse?  " 

"  But  it 's  ours." 

"  Nothing  is  ours.  No  black  man  ordinarily  can  sell 
his  crop  without  a  white  creditor's  consent." 

Alwyn  fumed. 

"  The  best  way,"  he  declared,  "  is  to  go  to  Montgomery 
and  get  a  first-class  lawyer  and  just  fight  the  thing 
through.  The  land  is  legally  ours,  and  he  has  no  right 
to  our  cotton." 

"  Yes,  but  you  must  remember  that  no  man  like  Colonel 
Cresswell  regards  a  business  bargain  with  a  colored  man 
as  binding.  No  white  man  under  ordinary  circumstances 
will  help  enforce  such  a  bargain  against  prevailing  public 
opinion." 

"  But  if  we  cannot  trust  to  the  justice  of  the  case, 
and  if  you  knew  we  could  n't,  why  did  you  try  ?  " 

"  Because  I  had  to  try ;  and  moreover  the  circum 
stances  are  not  altogether  ordinary:  the  men  in  power  in 
Toomsville  now  are  not  the  landlords  of  this  county; 
they  are  poor  whites.  The  Judge  and  sheriff  were  both 
elected  by  mill-hands  who  hate  Cresswell  and  Taylor. 
Then  there 's  a  new  young  lawyer  who  wants  Harry 
Cresswell's  seat  in  Congress ;  he  don't  know  much  law, 
I  'm  afraid ;  but  what  he  don't  know  of  this  case  I  think 
I  do.  I  '11  get  his  advice  and  then  —  I  mean  to  conduct 
the  case  myself,"  Zora  calmly  concluded. 

"  Without  a  lawyer ! "  Bles  Alwyn  stared  his  amaze 
ment. 

"  Without  a  lawyer  in  court." 

"  Zora !     That  would  be  foolish !  " 

"  Is  it  ?     Let 's  think.     For  over  a  year  now  I  've  been 


410    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

studying  the  law  of  the  case,"  and  she  pointed  to  her  law 
books ;  "  I  know  the  law  and  most  of  the  decisions.  More 
over,  as  a  black  woman  fighting  a  hopeless  battle  with 
landlords,  I  '11  gain  the  one  thing  lacking." 

"What's  that?" 

"  The  sympathy  of  the  court  and  the  bystanders." 

"  Pshaw !     From  these  Southerners  ?  " 

ty-  I  "  Yes,  from  them.  They  are  very  human,  these  men, 
especially  the  laborers.  Their  prejudices  are  cruel 
enough,  but  there  are  joints  in  their  armor.  They  are 
used  to  seeing  us  either  scared  or  blindly  angry,  and  they 
understand  how  to  handle  us  then,  but  at  other  times  it 
is  hard  for  them  to  do  anything  but  meet  us  in  a  human 
way." 

"  But,  Zora,  think  of  the  contact  of  the  court,  the 
humiliation,  the  coarse  talk  —  " 

Zora  put  up  her  hand  and  lightly  touched  his  arm. 
Looking  at  him,  she  said: 

"  Mud  does  n't  hurt  much.  This  is  my  duty.  Let  me 
do  it." 

His  eyes  fell  before  the  shadow  of  a  deeper  rebuke.  He 
arose  heavily. 

"  Very  well,"  he  acquiesced  as  he  passed  slowly  out. 

The  young  lawyer  started  to  refuse  to  touch  the  case 
until  he  saw  —  or  did  Zora  adroitly  make  him  see  ? —  a 
chance  for  eventual  political  capital.  They  went  over  the 
matter  carefully,  and  the  lawyer  acquired  a  respect  for 
the  young  woman's  knowledge. 

"  First,"  he  said,  "  get  an  injunction  on  the  cotton  — 
then  go  to  court."  And  to  insure  the  matter  he  slipped 
over  and  saw  the  Judge. 

Colonel  Cresswell  next  day  stalked  angrily  into  his 
lawyers'  office. 


THE  LAND  411 

"  See  here,"  he  thundered,  handing  the  lawyer  the  no 
tice  of  the  injunction. 

"  See  the  Judge,"  began  the  lawyer,  and  then  re 
membered,  as  he  was  often  forced  to  do  these  days,  who 
was  Judge. 

He  inquired  carefully  into  the  case  and  examined  the 
papers.  Then  he  said: 

"  Colonel  Cresswell,  who  drew  this  contract  of  .-;ale  ?  " 

"  The  black  girl  did." 

"  Impossible !  " 

"  She  certainly  did  —  wrote  it  in  my  presence." 

"  Well,  it  >s  mighty  well  done." 

"You  mean  it  will  stand  in  law?  " 

"  It  certainly  will.  There  's  but  one  way  to  break  it, 
and  that  's  to  allege  misunderstanding  on  your  part." 

Cresswell  winced.  It  was  not  pleasant  to  go  into  open 
court  and  acknowledge  himself  over-reached  by  a  Negro; 
but  several  thousand  dollars  in  cotton  and  land  were  at 
stake. 

"  Go  ahead,"  he  concurred. 

"You  can  depend  on  Taylor,  of  course?"  added  the 
lawyer. 

"  Of  course,"  answered  Cresswell.  "  But  why  prolong 
the  thing?  " 

"  You  see,  she  's  got  your  cotton  tied  by  injunction." 

"  I  don't  see  how  she  did  it." 

"  Easy  enough :  this  Judge  is  the  poor  white  you  op 
posed  in  the  last  primary." 

Within  a  week  the  case  was  called,  and  they  filed  into 
the  court-room.  Cresswell's  lawyer  saw  only  this  black 
woman  —  no  other  lawyer  or  sign  of  one  appeared  to  rep 
resent  her.  The  place  soon  filled  with  a  lazy,  tobacco- 
chewing  throng  of  white  men.  A  few  blacks  whispered  in 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

one  corner.  The  dirty  stove  was  glowing  with  pine-wood 
and  the  Judge  sat  at  a  desk. 

"  Where  's  your  lawyer  ?  "  he  asked  sharply  of  Zora. 

"  I  have  none,"  returned  Zora,  rising. 

There  came  a  silence  in  the  court.  Her  voice  was  low, 
and  the  men  leaned  forward  to  listen.  The  Judge  felt 
impelled  to  be  over-gruff. 

"  Get  a  lawyer,"  he  ordered. 

"  Your  honor,  my  case  is  simple,  and  with  your  honor's 
permission  I  wish  to  conduct  it  myself.  I  cannot  afford 
a  lawyer,  and  I  do  not  think  I  need  one." 

Cresswell's  lawyer  smiled  and  leaned  back.  It  was  go 
ing  to  be  easier  than  he  supposed.  Evidently  the  woman 
believed  she  had  no  case,  and  was  weakening. 

The  trial  proceeded,  and  Zora  stated  her  contention. 
She  told  how  long  her  mother  and  grandmother  had 
served  the  Cresswells  and  showed  her  receipt  for  rent 
paid. 

"  A  friend  sent  me  some  money.  I  went  to  Mr.  Cress- 
well  and  asked  him  to  sell  me  two  hundred  acres  of  land. 
He  consented  to  do  so  and  signed  this  contract  in  the 
presence  of  his  son-in-law." 

Just  then  John  Taylor  came  into  the  court,  and  Cress- 
well  beckoned  to  him. 

"  I  want  you  to  help  me  out,  John." 

"  All  right,"  whispered  Taylor.    "  What  can  I  do?  " 

"  Swear  that  Cresswell  did  n't  mean  to  sign  this,"  said 
the  lawyer  quickly,  as  he  arose  to  address  the  court. 

Taylor  looked  at  the  paper  blankly  and  then  at  Cress- 
well  and  some  inkling  of  the  irreconcilable  difference  in 
the  two  natures  leapt  in  both  their  hearts.  Cresswell 
might  gamble  and  drink  and  lie  "  like  a  gentleman,"  but 
he  would  never  willingly  cheat  or  take  advantage  of  a 


THE  LAND  418 

white  man's  financial  necessities.  Taylor,  on  the  other 
hand,  had  a  horror  of  a  lie,  never  drank  nor  played  games 
of  chance,  but  his  whole  life  was  speculation  and  in  tht 
business  game  he  was  utterly  ruthless  and  respected  no 
one.  Such  men  could  never  thoroughly  understand  each 
other.  To  Cresswell  a  man  who  had  cheated  the  whole 
South  out  of  millions  by  a  series  of  misrepresentations 
ought  to  regard  this  little  falsehood  as  nothing. 

Meantime  Colonel  Cresswell's  lawyer  was  on  his  feet, 
and  he  adopted  his  most  irritating  and  contemptuous 
manner. 

"  This  nigger  wench  wrote  out  some  illegible  stuff  and 
Colonel  Cresswell  signed  it  to  get  rid  of  her.  We  are  not 
going  to  question  the  legality  of  the  form  —  that 's 
neither  here  nor  there.  The  point  is,  Mr.  Cresswell  never 
intended  —  never  dreamed  of  selling  this  wench  land  right 
in  front  of  his  door.  He  meant  to  rent  her  the  land  and 
sign  a  receipt  for  rent  paid  in  advance.  I  will  not  worry 
your  honor  by  a  long  argument  to  prove  this,  but  just 
call  one  of  the  witnesses  well  known  to  you  —  Mr.  John 
Taylor  of  the  Toomsville  mills." 

Taylor  looked  toward  the  door  and  then  slowly  took 
the  stand. 

"  Mr.  Taylor,"  said  the  lawyer  carelessly,  "  were  you 
present  at  this  transaction?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Did  you  see  Colonel  Cresswell  sign  this  paper  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Well,  did  he  intend  so  far  as  you  know  to  sign  such 
a  paper  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  his  intentions." 

"  Did  he  say  he  meant  to  sign  such  a  contract  ?  " 

Taylor  hesitated. 


414    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  Yes,"  he  finally  answered.  Colonel  Cresswell  looked 
up  in  amazement  and  the  lawyer,  dropped  his  glasses. 

"I  —  I  don't  think  you  perhaps  understood  me,  Mr. 
Taylor,"  he  gasped.  "I  —  er  —  meant  to  ask  if  Colonel 
Cresswell,  in  signing  this  paper,  meant  to  sign  a  contract 
to  sell  this  wench  two  hundred  acres  of  land  ?  " 

"He  said  he  did,"  reiterated  Taylor.  "Although  I 
ought  to  add  that  he  did  not  think  the  girl  would  ever  be 
able  to  pay.  If  he  had  thought  she  would  pay,  I  don't 
think  he  would  have  signed  the  paper." 

Colonel  Cresswell  went  red,  then  pale,  and  leaning  for 
ward  before  the  whole  court,  he  hurled: 

"  You  damned  scoundrel !  " 

The  Judge  rapped  for  order  and  fidgeted  in  his  seat. 
There  was  some  confusion  and  snickering  in  the  court 
room.  Finally  the  Judge  plucked  up  courage: 

"  The  defendant  is  ordered  to  deliver  this  cotton  to 
Zora  Cresswell,"  he  directed. 

The  raging  of  Colonel  Cresswell's  anger  now  turned 
against  John  Taylor  as  well  as  the  Negroes.  Wind  of  the 
estrangement  flew  over  town  quickly.  The  poor  whites 
saw  a  chance  to  win  Taylor's  influence  and  the  sheriff 
approached  him  cautiously.  Taylor  paid  him  slight 
courtesy.  He  was  irritated  with  this  devilish  Negro 
problem ;  he  was  making  money ;  his  wife  and  babies  were 
enjoying  life,  and  here  was  this  fool  trial  to  upset  mat 
ters.  But  the  sheriff  talked. 

"  The  thing  I  'm  afraid  of,"  he  said,  "  is  that  Cresswell 
and  his  gang  will  swing  in  the  niggers  on  us." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Let  'em  vote." 

"  But  they  'd  have  to  read  and  write." 


THE  LAND  415 

"Sure!" 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Taylor,  "  it  might  be  a  good  thing." 

Colton  eyed  him  suspiciously. 

"  You  'd  let  a  nigger  vote  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  if  he  had  sense  enough." 

"  There  ain't  no  nigger  got  sense." 

"  Oh,  pshaw!  "  Taylor  ejaculated,  walking  away. 

The  sheriff  was  angry  and  mistrustful.  He  believed  he 
had  discovered  a  deep-laid  scheme  of  the  aristocrats  to 
cultivate  friendliness  between  whites  and  blacks,  and  then 
use  black  voters  to  crush  the  whites.  Such  a  course  was, 
in  Colton's  mind,  dangerous,  monstrous,  and  unnatural; 
it  must  be  stopped  at  all  hazards.  He  began  to  whisper 
among  his  friends.  One  or  two  meetings  were  held,  and 
the  flame  of  racial  prejudice  was  studiously  fanned. 

The  atmosphere  of  the  town  and  country  quickly  be 
gan  to  change.  Whatever  little  beginnings  of  friendship 
and  understanding  had  arisen  now  quickly  disappeared. 
The  town  of  a  Saturday  no  longer  belonged  to  a  happy, 
careless  crowd  of  black  peasants,  but  the  black  folk  found 
themselves  elbowed  to  the  gutter,  while  ugly  quarrels 
flashed  here  and  there  with  a  quick  arrest  of  the  Negroes. 

Colonel  Cresswell  made  a  sudden  resolve.  He  sent  for 
the  sheriff  and  received  him  at  the  Oaks,  in  his  most  re 
spectable  style,  filling  him  with  good  food,  and  warming 
him  with  good  liquor. 

"  Colton,"  he  asked,  "  are  you  sending  any  of  your 
white  children  to  the  nigger  school  yet?  " 

"What!"  yelled  Colton. 

The  Colonel  laughed,  frankly  telling  Colton  John 
Taylor's  philosophy  on  the  race  problem, —  his  willingness 
to  let  Negroes  vote;  his  threat  to  let  blacks  and  whites 


416    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

work  together;  his  contempt  for  the  officials  elected  by 
the  people. 

"  Candidly,  Colton,"  he  concluded,  "  I  believe  in  aris 
tocracy.  I  can't  think  it  right  or  wise  to  replace  the  old 
aristocracy  by  new  and  untried  blood."  And  in  a  sudden 
outburst  —  "  But,  by  God,  sir !  I  'm  a  white  man,  and  I 
place  the  lowest  white  man  ever  created  above  the  highest 
darkey  ever  thought  of.  This  Yankee,  Taylor,  is  a  nig 
ger-lover.  He  's  secretly  encouraging  and  helping  them. 
You  saw  what  he  did  to  me,  and  1 5m  warning  you  in 
time." 

Colton's  glass  dropped. 

"  I  thought  it  was  you  that  was  corralling  the  niggers 
against  us,"  he  exclaimed. 

The  Colonel  reddened.  "  I  don't  count  all  white  men 
my  equals,  I  admit,"  he  returned  with  dignity,  "  but  I 
know  the  difference  between  a  white  man  and  a  nigger." 

Colton  stretched  out  his  massive  hand.  "  Put  it  there, 
sir,"  said  he;  "I  misjudged  you,  Colonel  Cresswell.  I  'm 
a  Southerner,  and  I  honor  the  old  aristocracy  you  rep 
resent.  I  'm  going  to  join  with  you  to  crush  this  Yankee 
and  put  the  niggers  in  their  places.  They  are  getting 
impudent  around  here;  they  need  a  lesson  and,  by  gad! 
they  '11  get  one  they  '11  remember." 

"  Now,  see  here,  Colton,  —  nothing  rash,"  the  Colonel 
charged  him,  warningly.  "  Do  n't  stir  up  needless 
trouble ;  but  —  well,  things  must  change." 

Colton  rose  and  shook  his  head. 

"  The  niggers  need  a  lesson,"  he  muttered  as  he  un 
steadily  bade  his  host  good-bye.  Cresswell  watched  him 
uncomfortably  as  he  rode  away,  and  again  a  feeling  of 
doubt  stirred  within  him.  What  new  force  was  he  loosen- 


THE  LAND  417 

ing  against  his  black  folk  —  his  own  black  folk,  who  had 
lived  about  him  and  his  fathers  nigh  three  hundred  years  ? 
He  saw  the  huge  form  of  the  sheriff  loom  like  an  evil  spirit 
a  moment  on  the  rise  of  the  road  and  sink  into  the  night. 
He  turned  slowly  to  his  cheerless  house  shuddering  as  he 
entered  the  uninviting  portals. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

THE  MOB 

WHEN  Emma,  Bertie's  child,  came  home  after  a 
two  years'  course  of  study,  she  had  passed 
from  girlhood  to  young  womanhood.  She  was 
white,  and  sandy-haired.  She  was  not  beautiful,  and  she 
appeared  to  be  fragile;  but  she  also  looked  sweet  and 
good,  with  that  peculiar  innocence  which  peers  out  upon 
the  world  with  calm,  round  eyes  and  sees  no  evil,  but  does 
methodically  its  simple,  everyday  work.  Zora  mothered 
her,  Miss  Smith  found  her  plenty  to  do,  and  Bles  thought 
her  a  good  girl.  But  Mrs.  Cresswell  found  her  perfect, 
and  began  to  scheme  to  marry  her  off.  For  Mary  Cress- 
well,  with  the  restlessness  and  unhappiness  of  an  unem 
ployed  woman,  was  trying  to  atone  for  her  former 
blunders. 

Her  humiliation  after  the  episode  at  Cresswell  Oaks 
had  been  complete.  It  seemed  to  her  that  the  original 
cause  of  her  whole  life  punishment  lay  in  her  persistent 
misunderstanding  of  the  black  people  and  their  problem. 
Zora  appeared  to  her  in  a  new  and  glorified  light  — -  a 
vigorous,  self-sacrificing  woman.  She  knew  that  Zora 
had  refused  to  marry  Bles,  and  this  again  seemed  fitting. 
Zora  was  not  meant  for  marrying ;  she  was  a  born  leader, 
wedded  to  a  great  cause;  she  had  long  outgrown  the  boy 

[4181 


THE  MOB  419 

and  girl  affection.  She  was  the  sort  of  woman  she  herself 
might  have  been  if  she  had  not  married. 

Alwyn,  on  the  other  hand,  needed  a  wife;  he  was  a 
great,  virile  boy,  requiring  a  simple,  affectionate  mate. 
No  sooner  did  she  see  Emma  than  she  was  sure  that  this 
was  the  ideal  wife.  She  compared  herself  with  Helen  Cress- 
well.  Helen  was  a  contented  wife  and  mother  because  she 
was  fitted  for  the  position,  and  happy  in  it;  while  she 
who  had  aimed  so  high  had  fallen  piteously.  From  such 
a  fate  she  would  save  Zora  and  Bles. 

Emma's  course  in  nurse-training  had  been  simple  and 
short  and  there  was  no  resident  physician ;  but  Emma, 
in  her  unemotional  way,  was  a  born  nurse  and  did  much 
good  among  the  sick  in  the  neighborhood.  Zora  had  a 
small  log  hospital  erected  with  four  white  beds,  a  private 
room,  and  an  office  which  was  also  Emma's  bedroom.  The 
new  white  physician  in  town,  just  fresh  from  school  in 
Atlanta,  became  interested  and  helped  with  advice  and 
suggestions. 

Meantime  John  Taylor's  troubles  began  to  increase. 
Under  the  old  political  regime  it  had  been  an  easy  matter 
to  avoid  serious  damage-suits  for  the  accidents  in  the  mill. 
Much  child  labor  and  the  lack  of  protective  devices  made 
accidents  painfully  frequent.  Taylor  insisted  that  the 
chief  cause  was  carelessness,  while  the  mill  hands  alleged 
criminal  neglect  on  his  part.  When  the  new  labor  of 
ficials  took  charge  of  the  court  and  the  break  occurred 
between  Colonel  Cress  well  and  his  son-in-law,  Taylor 
found  that  several  damage-suits  were  likely  to  cost  him 
a  considerable  sum. 

He  determined  not  to  let  the  bad  feeling  go  too  far,  and 
when  a  particularly  distressing  accident  to  a  little  girl 
took  place,  he  showed  more  than  his  usual  interest  and 


420    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

offered  to  care  for  her.  The  new  young  physician  recom 
mended  Zora's  infirmary  as  the  only  near  place  that  of 
fered  a  chance  for  the  child's  recovery. 

"  Take  her  out,"  Taylor  promptly  directed. 

Zora  was  troubled  when  the  child  came.  She  knew  the 
suspicious  temper  of  the  town  whites.  The  very  next  day 
Taylor  sent  out  a  second  case,  a  child  who  had  been  hurt 
some  time  before  and  was  not  recovering  as  she  should. 
Under  the  care  of  the  little  hospital  and  the  gentle  nurse 
the  children  improved  rapidly,  and  in  two  weeks  were  out 
doors,  playing  with  the  little  black  children  and  even 
creeping  into  class-rooms  and  listening.  The  grateful 
mothers  came  out  twice  a  week  at  least;  at  first  with 
suspicious  aloofness,  but  gradually  melting  under  Zora's 
tact  until  they  sat  and  talked  with  her  and  told  their 
troubles  and  struggles.  Zora  realized  how  human  they 
were,  and  how  like  their  problems  were  to  hers.  They 
and  their  children  grew  to  love  this  busy,  thoughtful 
woman,  and  Zora's  fears  were  quieted. 

The  catastrophe  came  suddenly.  The  sheriff  rode  by, 
scowling  and  hunting  for  some  poor  black  runaway,  when 
he  saw  white  children  in  the  Negro  school  and  white  women, 
whom  he  knew  were  mill-hands,  looking  on.  He  was  black 
with  anger ;  turning  he  galloped  back  to  town.  A  few 
hours  later  the  young  physician  arrived  hastily  in  a  cab 
to  take  the  women  and  children  to  town.  He  said  some 
thing  in  a  low  tone  to  Zora  and  drove  away,  frowning. 

Zora  came  quickly  to  the  school  and  asked  for  Alwyn. 
He  was  in  the  barn  and  she  hurried  there. 

"  Bles,"  she  said  quietly,  "  it  is  reported  that  a  Tooms- 
ville  mob  will  burn  the  school  to-night." 

Bles  stood  motionless. 

"  I  've  been  fearing  it.     The  sheriff  has  been  stirring 


THE  MOB 

up  the  worst  elements  in  the  town  lately  and  the  mills  pay 
off  to-night." 

"  Well,"  she  said  quietly,  "  we  must  prepare." 

He  looked  at  her,  his  face  aglow  with  admiration. 

"  You  wonder-woman !  "  he  exclaimed  softly. 

A  moment  they  regarded  each  other.  She  saw  the  love 
in  his  eyes,  and  he  saw  rising  in  hers  something  that  made 
his  heart  bound.  But  she  turned  quickly  away. 

"  You  must  hurry,  Bles ;  lives  are  at  stake."  And  in 
another  moment  he  thundered  out  of  the  barn  on  the 
black  mare. 

Along  the  pike  he  flew  and  up  the  plantation  roads. 
Across  broad  fields  and  back  again,  over  to  the  Barton 
pike  and  along  the  swamp.  At  every  cabin  he  whispered 
a  word,  and  left  behind  him  grey  faces  and  whispering 
children. 

His  horse  was  reeking  with  sweat  as  he  staggered  again 
into  the  school-yard;  but  already  the  people  were  gather 
ing,  with  frightened,  anxious,  desperate  faces.  Women 
with  bundles  and  children,  men  with  guns,  tottering  old 
folks,  w^ide-eyed  boys  and  girls.  Up  from  the  swamp 
land  came  the  children  crying  and  moaning.  The  sun  was 
setting.  The  women  and  children  hurried  into  the  school 
building,  closing  the  doors  and  windows.  A  moment 
Alwyn  stood  without  and  looked  back.  The  world  was 
peaceful.  He  could  hear  the  whistle  of  birds  and  the 
sobbing  of  the  breeze  in  the  shadowing  oaks.  The  sky 
was  flashing  to  dull  and  purplish  blue,  and  over  all  lay 
the  twilight  hush  as  though  God  did  not  care. 

He  threw  back  his  head  arid  clenched  his  hands.  His 
soul  groaned  within  him.  "Heavenly  Father,  was  man 
ever  before  set  to  such  a  task?"  Fight?  God!  if  he 
could  but  fight!  If  he  could  but  let  go  the  elemental 


422    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

passions  that  were  leaping  and  gathering  and  burning  in 
the  eyes  of  yonder  caged  and  desperate  black  men.  But 
his  hands  were  tied  —  manacled.  One  desperate  struggle, 
a  whirl  of  blood,  and  the  whole  world  would  rise  to  crush 
him  and  his  people.  The  white  operator  in  yonder  town 
had  but  to  flash  the  news,  "  Negroes  killing  whites,"  In 
bring  all  the  country,  all  the  State,  all  the  nation,  to  red 
vengeance.  It  mattered  not  what  the  provocation,  what 
the  desperate  cause. 

The  door  suddenly  opened  behind  him  and  he  wheeled 
around. 

"Zora !  "  he  whispered. 

"  Bles,"  she  answered  softly,  and  they  went  silently  in 
to  their  people. 

All  at  once,  from  floor  to  roof,  the  whole  school-house 
was  lighted  up,  save  a  dark  window  here  and  there.  Then 
some  one  slipped  out  into  the  darkness  and  soon  watch- 
fire  after  watch-fire  flickered  and  flamed  in  the  night,  and 
then  burned  vividly,  sending  up  sparks  and  black  smoke. 
Thus  ringed  with  flaming  silence,  the  school  lay  at  the 
edge  of  the  great,  black  swamp  and  waited.  Owls  hooted 
in  the  forest.  Afar  the  shriek  of  the  Montgomery  train 
was  heard  across  the  night,  mingling  with  the  wail  of  a 
wakeful  'babe;  and  then  redoubled  silence.  The  men  be 
came  restless,  and  Johnson  began  to  edge  away  toward 
the  lower  ihrll.  Alwyn  was  watching  him  when  a  faint 
noise  came  to  him  on  the  eastern  breeze  —  a  low,  rumbling 
t murmur.  It  died  away,  and  rose  again;  then  a  distant 
gun-shot  woke  the  echoes. 

"  They  're  coming !  "  he  cried.  Standing  back  in  the 
shadow  of  a  front  window,  he  waited.  Slowly,  intermit 
tently,  the  murmuring  swelled,  till  it  grew  distinguishable 
as  yelling,  cursing,  and  singing,  intermingled  with  the 


THE  MOB 

crash  of  pistol-shots.  Far  away  a  flame,  as  of  a  burning 
cabin,  arose,  and  a  wilder,  louder  yell  greeted  it.  Now 
the  tramp  of  footsteps  could  be  heard,  and  clearer  and 
thicker  the  grating  and  booming  of  voices,  until  suddenly, 
far  up  the  pike,  a  black  moving  mass,  with  glitter  and 
shout,  swept  into  view.  They  came  headlong,  guided  by 
pine-torches,  which  threw  their  white  and  haggard  faces 
into  wild  distortion.  Then  as  bonfire  after  bonfire  met 
their  gaze,  they  moved  slowly  and  more  slowly,  and  at 
last  sent  a  volley  of  bullets  at  the  fires.  One  bullet  flew 
high  and  sang  through  a  lighted  window.  Without  a 
word,  Uncle  Isaac  sank  upon  the  floor  and  lay  still.  Si 
lence  and  renewed  murmuring  ensued,  and  the  sound  of 
high  voices  in  dispute.  Then  the  mass  divided  into  two 
wings  and  slowly  encircled  the  fence  of  fire;  starting 
noisily  and  confidently,  and  then  going  more  slowly, 
quietly,  warily,  as  the  silence  of  the  flame  began  to  tell  on 
their  heated  nerves. 

Strained  whispers  arose. 

"Careful  there!" 

"  Go  on,  damn  ye !  " 

"  There  's  some  one  by  yon  fire." 

"  No,  there  ain't." 

"  See  the  bushes  move." 

Bang!  bang!  bang! 

"Who's  that?" 

"  It 's  me." 

"  Let  's  rush  through  and  fire  the  house." 

"  And  leave  a  pa'cel  of  niggers  behind  to  shoot  your 
lights  out?  Not  me." 

"  What  the  hell  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

"  I  don't  know  yet." 

"  I  wish  I  could  see  a  nigger." 


424    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

"  Hark!  " 

Stealthy  steps  were  approaching,  a  glint  of  steel  flashed 
behind  the  fire  lights.  Each  band  mistook  the  other  for 
the  armed  Negroes,  and  the  leaders  yelled  in  vain ;  human 
power  can  not  stay  the  dashing  torrent  of  fear-inspired 
human  panic.  Whirling,  the  mob  fled  till  it  struck  the 
road  in  two  confused,  surging  masses.  Then  in  quick 
frenzy,  shots  flew;  three  men  threw  up  their  hands  and 
tumbled  limply  in  the  dust,  while  the  main  body  rushed 
pellmell  toward  town. 

At  early  dawn,  when  the  men  relaxed  from  the  strain 
of  the  night's  vigil,  Alwyn  briefly  counselled  them :  "  Hide 
your  guns." 

"  Why?  "  blustered  Rob.  "  Have  n't  I  a  right  to  have 
a  gun  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  have,  Rob ;  but  do  n't  be  foolish  —  hide  it. 
We  've  not  heard  the  last  of  this." 

But  Rob  tossed  his  head  belligerently. 

In  town,  rumor  spread  like  wildfire.  A  body  of  peace 
ful  whites  passing  through  the  black  settlement  had  been 
fired  on  from  ambush,  and  six  killed  —  no,  three  killed 
—  no,  one  killed  and  two  severely  wounded. 

"  The  thing  must  n't  stop  here,"  shouted  Sheriff  Col- 
ton  ;  "  these  niggers  must  have  a  lesson."  And  before 
nine  next  morning  fully  half  the  grown  members  of  the 
same  mob,  now  sworn  in  as  deputies,  rode  with  him  to 
search  the  settlement.  They  tramped  insolently  through 
the  school  grounds,  but  there  was  no  shred  of  evidence 
until  they  came  to  Rob's  cabin  and  found  his  gun.  They 
tied  his  hands  behind  him  and  marched  him  toward  town. 

But  before  the  mob  arrived  the  night  before,  Johnson 
feeling  that  his  safety  lay  in  informing  the  white  folks, 
had  crawled  with  his  gun  into  the  swamp.  In  the  morn- 


THE  MOB  425 

ing  he  peered  out  as  the  cavalcade  approached,  and  not 
knowing  what  had  happened,  he  recognized  Colton,  the 
sheriff,  and  signalled  to  him  cautiously.  In  a  moment  a 
dozen  men  were  on  him,  and  he  appealed  and  explained  in 
vain  —  the  gun  was  damning  evidence.  The  voices  of 
Rob's  wife  and  children  could  be  heard  behind  the  two 
men  as  they  were  hurried  along  at  a  dog  trot. 

The  town  poured  out  to  greet  them  —  "  The  murder 
ers  !  the  murderers !  Kill  the  niggers ! "  and  they  came 
on  with  a  rush.  The  sheriff  turned  and  disappeared  in 
the  rear.  There  was  a  great  cloud  of  dust,  a  cry  and 
a  wild  scramble,  as  the  white  and  angry  faces  of  men  and 
boys  gleamed  a  moment  and  faded. 

A  hundred  or  more  shots  rang  out;  then  slowly  and 
silently,  the  mass  of  women  and  men  were  sucked  into 
the  streets  of  the  town,  leaving  but  black  eddies  on  the 
corners  to  throw  backward  glances  toward  the  bare,  tower 
ing  pine  where  swung  two  red  and  awful  things.  The 
pale  boy-face  of  one,  with  soft  brown  eyes  glared  up 
sightless  to  the  sun;  the  dead,  leathered  bronze  of  the 
other  was  carved  in  piteous  terror. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

ATONEMENT 

THREE  months  had  flown.  It  was  Spring  again, 
and  Zora  sat  in  the  transformed  swamp  —  now 
a  swamp  in  name  only  —  beneath  the  great  oak, 
dreaming.  And  what  she  dreamed  there  in  the  golden 
day  ^she  dared  not  formulate  even  to  her  own  soul.  She 
rose  with  a  start,  for  there  was  work  to  do.  Aunt  Rachel 
was  ill,  and  Emma  went  daily  to  attend  her;  to-day,  as 
she  came  back,  she  brought  news  that  Colonel  Cresswell, 
who  had  been  unwell  for  several  days,  was  worse.  She 
must  send  Emma  up  to  help,  and  as  she  started  toward 
the  school  she  glanced  toward  the  Cresswell  Oaks  and  saw 
the  arm-chair  of  its  master  on  the  pillared  porch. 

Colonel  Cresswell  sat  in  his  chair  on  the  porch,  alone, 
As  far  as  he  could  see,  there  was  no  human  soul.  His 
eyes  were  blood-shot,  his  cheeks  sunken,  and  his  breath 
came  in  painful  gasps.  A  sort  of  terror  shook  him  until 
he  heard  the  distant  songs  of  black  folk  in  the  fields.  He 
sighed,  and  lying  back,  closed  his  eyes  and  the  breath 
came  easier.  When  he  opened  them  again  a  white  figure 
was  coming  up  the  avenue  of  the  Oaks.  He  watched  it 
greedily.  It  was  Mary  Cresswell,  and  she  started  when 
she  saw  him. 

"You  are  worse,  father?"  she  asked. 

[426] 


ATONEMENT 

"  Worse  and  better,"  he  replied,  smiling  cynically. 
Then  suddenly  he  announced:  "  I  've  made  my  will." 

"  Why  —  why  —  "   she   stammered. 

"  Why?  "  sharply.     "  Because  I  'm  going  to  die." 

She  said  nothing.     He  smiled  and  continued: 

"  I  've  got  it  all  fixed.  Harry  was  in  a  tight  place  — 
gambling  as  usual  —  and  I  gave  him  a  lump  sum  in  lieu 
of  all  claims.  Then  I  gave  John  Taylor  —  you  need  n't 
look.  I  sent  for  him.  He 's  a  damned  scoundrel ;  but 
he  won't  lie,  and  I  needed  him.  I  willed  his  children  all 
the  rest  except  two  or  three  legacies.  One  was  one  hun 
dred  thousand  dollars  for  you  —  ' 

"  Oh,  father !  "  she  cried.    "  I  don't  deserve  it." 

"  I  reckon  two  years  with  Harry  was  worth  about 
that  much,"  he  returned  grimly.  "  Then  there 's  an 
other  gift  of  two  hundred  thousand  dollars  and  this  house 
and  plantation.  Whom  do  you  think  that's  for?" 

"Helen?" 

"  Helen ! "  he  raised  his  hand  in  threatening  anger. 
"  I  might  rot  here  for  all  she  cares.  No  —  no  —  but 
then  —  I  '11  not  tell  you  —  I  —  ah  —  "  A  spasm  of 
pain  shot  across  his  face,  and  he  lay  back  white 
and  still.  Abruptly  he  sat  up  again  and  peered  down 
the  oaks.  "  Hush !  "  he  gasped.  "  Who  's  that?  " 

"  I  don't  know  —  it 's  a  girl  —  I  —  " 

He  gripped  her  till  she  winced. 

"My  God  —  it  walks  —  like  my  wife  —  I  tell  you  — 
she  held  her  head  so  —  who  is  it  ?  "  He  half  rose. 

"  Oh,  father,  it 's  nobody  but  Emma  —  little  Emma  — 
Bertie's  child  —  the  mulatto  girl.  She  's  a  nurse  now, 
and  I  asked  to  have  her  come  and  attend  you." 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  "  oh  —  "     He  looked  at  the  girl  cu- 


428    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

riously.     "  Come  here."     He  peered  into  her  white  young- 
face.     "  Do  you  know  me  ?  " 

The  girl  shrank  away  from  him. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"What  do  you  do?" 

"  I  teach  and  nurse  at  the  school." 

"  Good !     Well,  I  'm  going  to  give  you  some  money  — 
do  you  know  why?  " 

SA  flash  of  self-consciousness  passed  over  the  girl's  face ; 
he  looked  at  him  with  her  wide  blue  eyes. 

"Yes,  Grandfather,"  she  faltered. 

Mrs.  Cresswell  rose  to  her  feet ;  but  the  old  man  slowly 
dropped  the  girl's  hand  and  lay  back  in  his  chair,  with 
lips  half  smiling.  "  Grandfather,"  he  repeated  softly, 
He  closed  his  eyes  a  space  and  then  opened  them.  A 
tremor  shivered  in  his  limbs  as  he  stared  darkly  at  the 
swamp. 

"  Hark !  "  he  cried  harshly.  "  Do  you  hear  the  bodies 
creaking  on  the  limbs  ?  It 's  Rob  and  Johnson.  I  did 
it  —  I  —  " 

Suddenly  he  rose  and  stood  erect  and  his  wild  eyes 
stricken  with  death  stared  full  upon  Emma.  Slowly  and 
thickly  he  spoke,  working  his  trembling  hands. 

"  Nell  —  Nell !  Is  it  you,  little  wife,  come  back  to 
accuse  me  ?  Ah,  Nell,  don't  shrink !  I  know  —  I  have 
sinned  against  the  light  and  the  blood  of  your  poor 
black  people  is  red  on  these  old  hands.  No,  don't  put 
your  clean  white  hands  upon  me,  Nell,  till  I  wash  mine. 
I  '11  do  it,  Nell;  I  '11  atone.  I  'm  a  Cresswell  yet,  Nell,  a 
Cresswell  and  a  gen  —  He  swayed.  Vainly  he  strug 
gled  for  the  word.  The  shudder  of  death  shook  his  soul, 
and  he  passed. 

A  week   after  the   funeral   of   Colonel   Cresswell,   John 


ATONEMENT  429 

Taylor  drove  out  to  the  school  and  was  closeted  with 
Miss  Smith.  His  sister,  installed  once  again  for  a  few 
days  in  her  old  room  at  the  school,  understood  that  he 
was  conferring  about  Emma's  legacy,  and  she  was  glad. 
She  was  more  and  more  convinced  that  the  marriage  of 
Emma  and  Bles  was  the  best  possible  solution  of  many 
difficulties.  She  had  asked  Emma  once  if  she  liked  Bles, 
and  Emma  had  replied  in  her  innocent  way, 

"Oh,   so  much." 

As  for  Bles,  he  was  often  saying  what  a  dear  child 
Emma  was.  Neither  perhaps  realized  yet  that  this  was 
love,  but  it  needed,  Mrs.  Cresswell  was  sure,  only  the 
lightning-flash,  and  they  would  know.  And  who  could 
furnish  that  illumination  better  than  Zora,  the  calm, 
methodical  Zora,  who  knew  them  so  well? 

As  for  herself,  once  she  had  accomplished  the  mar 
riage  and  paid  the  mortgage  on  the  school  out  of  her 
legacy,  she  would  go  abroad  and  in  travel  seek  forget- 
fulness  and  healing.  There  had  been  no  formal  divorce, 
and  so  far  as  she  was  concerned  there  never  would  be; 
but  the  separation  from  her  husband  and  America  would 
be  forever. 

Her  brother  came  out  of  the  office,  nodded  casually,  for 
they  had  little  intercourse  these  days,  and  rode  away. 
She  rushed  in  to  Miss  Smith  and  found  her  sitting  there 
—  straight,  upright,  composed  in  all  save  that  the  tears 
were  streaming  down  her  face  and  she  was  making  no 
effort  to  stop  them. 

"Why-—  Miss  Smith!"  she  faltered. 

Mias  Smith  pointed  to  a  paper.  Mrs.  Cresswell  picked 
it  up  curiously.  It  was  an  official  notification  to  the 
trustees  of  the  Smith  School  of  a  legacy  of  two  hundred 
thousand  dollars  together  with  the  Cresswell  house  and 


430   THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

plantation.  Mrs.  Cresswell  sat  down  in  open-mouthed  as 
tonishment.  Twice  she  tried  to  speak,  but  there  were  so 
many  things  to  say  that  she  could  not  choose. 

"  Tell  Zora,"  Miss  Smith  at  last  managed  to  say. 

Zora  was  dreaming  again.  Somehow,  the  old  dream- 
life,  with  its  glorious  phantasies,  had  come  silently  back, 
richer  and  sweeter  than  ever.  There  was  no  tangible 
reason  why,  and  yet  to-day  she  had  shut  herself  in  her 
den.  Searching  down  in  the  depths  of  her  trunk,  she 
drew  forth  that  filmy  cloud  of  white  —  silk-bordered  and 
half  finished  to  a  gown.  Why  were  her  eyes  wet  to-day 
and  her  mind  on  the  Silver  Fleece?  It  was  an  anni 
versary,  and  perhaps  she  still  remembered  that  moment, 
that  supreme  moment  before  the  mob.  She  half  slipped 
on,  half  wound  about  her,  the  white  cloud  of  cloth,  stand 
ing  with  parted  lips,  looking  into  the  long  mirror  and 
gleaming  in  the  fading  day  like  midnight  gowned  in  mists 
and  stars.  Abruptly  there  came  a  peremptory  knocking 
at  the  door. 

"  Zora !  Zora !  "  sounded  Mrs.  Cresswell's  voice.  For 
getting  her  informal  attire,  she  opened  the  door,  fearing 
some  mishap.  Mrs.  Cresswell  poured  out  the  news.  Zora 
received  it  in  such  motionless  silence  that  Mary  wondered 
at  her  want  of  feeling.  At  last,  however,  she  said  happily 
to  Zora: 

"  Well,  the  battle  's  over,  is  n't  it?  " 

"  No,  it 's  just  begun." 

"Just  begun?"  echoed  Mary  in  amazement. 

"  Think  of  the  servile  black  folk,  the  half  awakened 
restless  whites,  the  fat  land  waiting  for  the  harvest,  the 
masses  panting  to  know  —  why,  the  battle  is  scarcely  even 
begun." 

"  Yes,  I  guess  that 's  so,"  Mary  began  to  comprehend. 
"  We  '11  thank  God  it  has  begun,  though." 


'  I  AM  NOT  WORTHY  OF  HER,"  HE  ANSWERED,  SINKING 

BEFORE  HER 


ATONEMENT 

"  Thank  God !  "  Zora  reverently  repeated. 

"  Come,  let 's  go  back  to  poor,  dear  Miss  Smith,"  sug 
gested  Mary. 

"I  can't  come  just  now  —  but  pretty  soon." 

"  Why  ?  Oh,  I  see ;  you  're  trying  on  something  — 
how  pretty  and  becoming!  Well,  hurry." 

As  they  stood  together,  the  white  woman  deemed  the 
moment  opportune;  she  slipped  her  arm  about  the  black 
woman's  waist  and  began: 

"  Zora,  I  've  had  something  on  my  mind  for  a  long 
time,  and  I  should  n't  wonder  if  you  had  thought  of  the 
same  thing." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Bles  and  Emma." 

"What  of  them?" 

"  Their  liking  for  each  other." 

Zora  bent  a  moment  and  caught  up  the  folds  of  the 
Fleece. 

"  I  had  n't  noticed  it,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Well,  you  're  busy,  you  see.  They  've  been  very 
much  together  —  his  taking  her  to  her  charges,  bringing 
her  back,  and  all  that.  I  know  they  love  each  other; 
yet  something  holds  them  apart,  afraid  to  show  their 
love.  Do  you  know  —  I  've  wondered  if  —  quite  uncon 
sciously,  it  is  you?  You  know  Bles  used  to  imagine  him 
self  in  love  with  you,  just  as  he  did  afterward  with  Miss 
Wynn." 

"Miss  — Wynn?" 

"  Yes,  the  Washington  girl.  But  he  got  over  that  and 
you  straightened  him  out  finally.  Still,  Emma  probably 
thinks  yours  is  the  prior  claim,  knowing,  of  course,  noth 
ing  of  facts.  And  Bles  knows  she  thinks  of  him  and  you, 
and  I  'm  convinced  if  you  say  the  word,  they  'd  love  and 
marry." 


432    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

Zora  walked  silently  with  her  to  the  door,  where,  look 
ing  out,  she  saw  Bles  and  Emma  coming  from  Aunt 
Rachel's.  He  was  helping  her  from  the  carriage  with 
smiling  eyes,  and  her  innocent  blue  eyes  were  fastened 
on  him. 

Zora  looked  long  and  searchingly. 

"  Please  run  and  tell  them  of  the  legacy,"  she  begged. 
"  I  —  I  will  come  —  in  a  moment."  And  Mrs.  Cresswell 
hurried  out. 

Zora  turned  back  steadily  to  her  room,  and  locked 
herself  in.  After  all,  why  shouldn't  it  be?  Why  had 
it  not  occurred  to  her  before  in  her  blindness?  If  she 
had  wanted  him  —  and  ah,  God !  was  not  all  her  life 
simply  the  want  of  him  ?  —  why  had  she  not  bound  him 
to  her  when  he  had  offered  himself?  Why  had  she  not 
bound  him  to  her?  She  knew  as  she  asked  —  because 
she  had  wanted  all,  not  a  part  —  everything,  love,  respect 
and  perfect  faith  —  not  one  thing  could  she  spare  then  — 
not  one  thing.  And  now,  oh,  God !  she  had  dreamed  that 
it  was  all  hers,  since  that  night  of  death  and  circling  flame 
when  they  looked  at  each  other  soul  to  soul.  But  he  had 
not  meant  anything.  It  was  pity  she  had  seen  there, 
not  love;  and  she  rose  and  walked  the  room  slowly,  fast 
and  faster. 

With  trembling  hands  she  drew  the  Silver  Fleece  round 
her.  Her  head  swam  again  and  the  blood  flashed  in  her 
eyes.  She  heard  a  calling  in  the  swamp,  and  the  shadow 
of  Elspeth  seemed  to  hover  over  her,  claiming  her  for 
hex  own,  dragging  her  down,  down  .  .  .  She  rushed 
through  the  swamp.  The  lagoon  lay  there  before  her 
presently,  gleaming  in  the  darkness  —  cold  and  still,  and 
in  it  swam  an  awful  shape. 

She  held  her  burning  head  —  was  not  everything  plain  ? 


ATONEMENT  433 

Was  not  everything  clear?  This  was  Sacrifice!  This 
was  the  Atonement  for  the  unforgiven  sin.  Emma's  was 
the  pure  soul  which  she  must  offer  up  to  God;  for  it  was 
God,  a  cold  and  mighty  God,  who  had  given  it  to  Bles  — 
her  Bles.  It  was  well;  God  willed  it.  But  could  she 
live?  Must  she  live?  Did  God  ask  that,  too? 

All  at  once  she  stood  straight;  her  whole  body  grew 
tense,  alert.  She  heard  no  sound  behind  her,  but  knew 
he  was  there,  and  braced  herself.  She  must  be  true.  She 
must  be  just.  She  must  pay  the  uttermost  farthing. 

"  Bles,"  she  called  faintly,  but  did  not  turn  her  head. 

"  Zora ! " 

"  Bles,"  she  choked,  but  her  voice  came  stronger,  "  I 
know  —  all.  Emma  is  a  good  girl.  I  helped  bring  her 
up  myself  and  did  all  I  could  for  her  and  she  —  she  is 
pure;  marry  her." 

His  voice  came  slow  and  firm: 

"  Emma  ?  But  I  don't  love  Emma.  I  love  —  some 
one  else." 

Her  heart  bounded  and  again  was  still.  It  was  that 
Washington  girl  then.  She  answered  dully,  groping  for 
words,  for  she  was  tired: 

"Who  is  it?" 

"  The  best  woman  in  all  the  world,  Zora." 

"  And  is  "  —  she  struggled  at  the  word  madly  —  "  is 
she  pure?" 

**  She  is  more  than  pure." 

"  Then  you  must  marry  her,  Bles." 

"  I  am  not  worthy  of  her,"  he  answered,  sinking  be 
fore  her. 

Then  at  last  illumination  dawned  upon  her  blindness. 
She  stood  very  still  and  lifted  up  her  eyes.  The  swamp 
was  living,  vibrant,  tremulous.  There  where  the  first  long 


484    THE  QUEST  OF  THE  SILVER  FLEECE 

note  of  night  lay  shot  with  burning  crimson,  burst  in 
sudden  radiance  the  wide  beauty  of  the  moon.  There 
pulsed  a  glory  in  the  air.  Her  little  hands  groped  and 
wandered  over  his  close-curled  hair,  and  she  sobbed,  deep 
voiced : 

"  Will  you  —  marry  me,  Bles  ?  " 

U  ENVOI 

Lend  me  thine  ears,  0  God  the  Reader,  whose  Fathers 
aforetime  sent  mine  down  into  the  land  of  Egypt,  Into 
this  House  of  Bondage.  Lay  not  these  words  aside  for 
a  moment's  phantasy,  but  lift  up  thine  eyes  upon  the 
Horror  in  this  land;  - —  the  maiming  and  mocking  and 
murdering  of  my  people,  and  the  prisonment  of  their 
souls.  Let  my  people  go,  0  Infinite  One,  lest  the  world 
shudder  at 


THE  END 


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' 


— 


i"irp 


HOV  V6W9V 


RECEIVED 


M'si  .    jp^rj 

JoN  Q^  1592 

n  H^r: 


NOV     5  1P84 


m-U- 


1  9  1982 


CIRCULATION  DEP 


CULATION 


3RCULA 
>f  03  W 


FEB18-1983 
AUeiTttffi 


3  J993 


MAY  26  '93 


FORM  NO.  DD  6,  40m,  6'76 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
BERKELEY,  CA  94720 


M515730 


SUPPLIED    BY 

iEVEN  BOOKHUNTERS 


